


Modern Love

by sonofabiscuit77



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Past Character Death, Sexual Dysfunction, kid with a speaking part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 02:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonofabiscuit77/pseuds/sonofabiscuit77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2005, art intern, Jared Padalecki, fell in love with his boss, ambitious and promiscuous Jensen Ackles. Five years later, reeling from a tragedy that killed three of their friends, they left Texas to build a new life in New York. It’s now 2012, and Jared’s no longer the idealistic intern, he’s got everything he thought he wanted, except nothing seems to be going right: Jensen's business is faltering, their sex life is non-existent and the past won't leave them alone. Still, Jared’s got no intention of giving up on Jensen; he just hopes Jensen feels the same way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: age difference between Jared and Jensen is 8 years, one character is suffering from erectile dysfunction, past minor character deaths caused by serious hate crime, kid with a speaking part
> 
> Written for the rpf_big_bang. I want to say tons and heaps of thanks to my lovely and talented beta, dear_tiger who helped me so much with this and who is such an awesome writer and editor and person! I cut out another 2000 or so words after she was done, taking on board all her advice, so any mistakes left are all my fault. Also, tons of thanks and appreciation go to my lovely artist nanoks who produced some great pieces to go with this.
> 
> To clear up any confusion... Jensen's dead BFF, Stefan, is an OC. Also, I've deliberately not used any real J2 family members but given them totally new families.

  


_“…There’s no sign of life, it’s just the power to charm; I’m lying in the rain, but I never wave bye-bye; But I try, I try…”  
Modern Love, David Bowie_

  


[ ](http://sonofabiscuit77.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/450/36720)

**CHAPTER ONE**

Jared comes awake slowly. He blinks, registering the movements in the bed beside him with sleepy confusion. He turns his head. Jensen’s bare back is a firm, straight line beside him, though his right arm seems to be moving, his elbow making the covers peak in furtive jerks. Oh, Jared realizes distantly, Jensen’s jerking off.

He wriggles closer, presses his mouth to Jensen’s bare shoulder. “Jensen?” he whispers.

Jensen stills, his arm stops moving. “You’re awake,” he says. He doesn’t sound pleased.

“Yeah,” Jared breathes. He puts his arm around Jensen, skims his fingers over his chest and belly, his treasure trail, his pubic hair. “Here, let me.”

Jensen stiffens. “No. I, Jay.”

Jared registers Jensen’s soft cock in the same instant that Jensen pulls away from him and slides out of bed. His back is still to Jared, his shoulders high and tense. Jared’s heart sinks, his hand drops to the covers.

“It’s okay, man. I told you. It’s—“

“Don’t,” Jensen interrupts, his tone is clipped. “Gonna go shower.”

“Okay,” Jared murmurs. He falls back into the covers. He listens to Jensen enter the en suite bathroom, hears the snap of the light switch, the twist of the shower nozzle, the slap of the water on the glass stall. He pushes his hair off his face and sighs.

He checks the clock. It’s 6.37. Time to get up.

Downstairs, the French windows in the living room are half open, the floor-length white curtains rustling in a way that reminds him of the video for _Total Eclipse of the Heart_. The thought makes him smile as he pads towards the window. His toes curl in protest when he steps outside, the cold stone stinging his bare feet.

"Jared! Look what I found!" Jonah emerges in front of him and grabs at his robe, waving a muddy bare foot over an enormous toad lying motionless on the flagstones. "I found it near the driveway, but I think it might be dead. I'm gonna see if there’s another one!"

Henry, their border collie, is going wild at the bottom of the yard, running around the lawn, zig-zagging in and out of Jared’s rose bushes. Jared watches Jonah take off after him, calling his name as they both crash through the fir hedges that mask one side of the house. He glances down at the toad. Its skin glistens in the bright sunlight, it looks sad. He squats down to get a closer look.

“What’s that?” Jensen asks.

Jared straightens, watches Jensen step through the windows. His hair is wet from the shower and he’s wearing a robe and flip-flops.

“A dead toad. Jonah found it.”

Jensen grimaces. “It’s revolting.”

“That’s nature, dude.”

Jensen snorts, and Jared flicks him another glance. He thinks about saying something about this morning, but he’s distracted by a high-pitched squeal coming from the end of the garden. He looks up to see Jonah come running through the bushes after Henry, hair tangled, hems of his pajamas encrusted with dirt, feet still bare.

"Jonah! Come here! Jesus, look at you,” Jensen says when the boy screeches to a halt in front of him. “What the hell’s that?”

Jonah holds out his arm, another enormous toad dangling from the end of his fingers. "I found another one! And look! It’s still moving."

Jensen eyes the thing with disgust, raises his eyes to his son’s face. “Don’t even _think_ about bringing that thing inside."

Jared sits at the breakfast table, listening to the sound of Jonah crunching his way through an enormous bowl of Cheerios. He feels uncomfortable and too hot, his dress shirt is sticking to his chest and back where he didn’t dry off properly and his new shoes pinch. A clear plastic container filled with the not-dead toad and several handfuls of grass (Jonah’s attempt at making the poor animal feel at home) is sitting in the middle of the table and he can’t stop watching it. It’s creepy and kinda gross, but also fascinating.

“You look like crap,” Jensen says, striding into the room. He’s gotten dressed, well, almost dressed. Dress pants and shirt, collar unbuttoned, tie looped and half-knotted around his neck. He pours himself a mug of coffee and takes a long gulp. He bows his head to fiddle with his cufflinks, and Jared's gaze is drawn irresistibly to the sweep of his thick, stubby lashes against the pale hollow of his cheek. He looks away, instead fixing on the glint of the silver cufflinks at Jensen's wrists. He bought Jensen those cufflinks as a birthday present about seven years ago. They were just getting to know each other at the time, Jared beginning to realize just how far in over his head he really was. The cufflinks were a last-ditch panic buy, one that turned out all right in the end. Jensen claimed to like them, and at least he wore them. Given how fastidious and unsentimental he can be, it’s definitely one of Jared’s better gifts.

Jensen finishes with the cufflinks and starts on his tie, effortlessly sliding the knot into place. He smoothes down his hair, flicks imaginary fluff off his shirt and picks up his coffee mug again. “Jonah, what are you doing with that?” he snaps. Jonah’s picked up the container of toad, holding it high above his head so he can peer up at the underside, eyes wide in intense fascination. “I thought I told you to leave it outside.”

"It's for school. Jared said I could for Science," Jonah protests.

“Did he?” Jensen flicks him a look and Jared just shrugs. Jensen rolls his eyes at him, mouths, “Pushover.”

“I’m gonna show it to Mr. Waters,” announces Jonah. He lowers the container and tilts his head to one side to look at Jensen. “Hey, Dad, do male toads have penises?"

“That’s something you’ll have to find out for yourself,” Jensen says, which probably means he has no idea. Actually, Jared has no idea either. He also has no time to think about it. Wednesdays are always like this. It’s their housekeeper and nanny, Rebecca’s day off, which means one of them (him of course) has to drop Jonah off at school. They’re already running late.

He rubs his fingers over his dry scratchy eyes, snatches up his suit jacket from the back of the chair and stands. "Go get your shoes on, get in the car,” he tells the kid. Jonah deposits the toad carefully back on the breakfast bar and slides out of the room, skidding in his socks. Jensen reaches out a hand to ruffle his hair as he slides past and Jonah ducks away from him, batting his father’s hand away.

“You going to be late tonight?” Jared asks.

“Define late,” Jensen replies.

He so doesn’t have time for this bullshit. He grits his teeth. “Like, here? Are you staying over in the city tonight or will you be here? With your family?”

Jensen holds his gaze; he takes another sip of coffee. “I’ll be here,” he says. His voice is bland, only the hard look around the eyes betraying how pissed he is.

“Right, that’s all I wanted to know.”

He doesn’t look at Jensen as he stalks out the room, yelling for Jonah. Jonah’s sitting on the bottom stair, holding one sneaker disconsolately in his hand. He looks up at Jared and narrows his eyes into an accusatory sort of look.

“My sneaker fell apart,” he announces, making it sound like it’s all Jared’s fault.

“Oh for. What the hell were you doing with it?”

"I wasn't doing anything! They're just, like, way old! I told you I needed new ones!"

"Right. Fine. We’ll get you some new ones. Go put on your dress shoes.”

"I can't wear them," Jonah's voice is pure despair, "none of the other kids wear dress shoes at school."

"Suck it up.”

Jonah glares at him as he gets to his feet and stomps up the stairs to find his shoes. Jared grits his teeth again, (seriously, at this rate, he’s going to need them capped), and goes to find his keys.

 

**

Jared sits in the car and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. He watches Jonah trudge through the school gates, deliberately scuffing the despised shoes against the tarmac. Okay, so they’re not exactly living on the poverty line but does the kid have to ruin every damn thing they buy him? Those shoes are only a few weeks old. Normally he wouldn’t let a silly thing like that annoy him so much, but right now he feels too tired and too irritable. He didn’t used to feel like this all the time, like he has a permanent itch, something crawling under his skin that he just longs to crush between his fingers.

He knows what Chad would’ve said. “Jared, dude, you so need to get laid.” And he’d be right. He and Jensen haven’t had sex in... God, he can’t remember the last time. One month... two... maybe even longer. They’ve both been so busy, Jensen particularly, working such long hours, events practically every night, and when he is actually home he’s never around, always working late in his office. On the few occasions Jensen surfaces to spend time with them then it’s Jonah that gets all his attention. Jared’s not selfish enough to complain about that, he would never begrudge Jensen time with his son, or Jonah time with his father. But Jonah’s nightmares have been getting worse and he’s been sleeping with them more nights than not these past few weeks, because these days, instead of insisting that Jonah needs to learn to sleep in his own bed, Jensen’s been giving into the kid. It took Jared a long time to figure out that Jensen was doing it deliberately in order to avoid sex.

But the entire situation is so weird for them. Their sex life has always been the solid foundation of their relationship, the one place where they’re equal and honest and expressive with each other, because God knows that they’ve always sucked at real, true-to-life communication. He worried at first that Jensen was no longer sexually attracted to him. They’ve been together over seven years, on and off admittedly, but still… Couples _do_ go off each other, the sex goes bad, one of them starts looking elsewhere. But Jensen didn’t seem to be looking elsewhere, Jensen didn’t seem to be interested in sex at all. His porn collection was untouched, his internet browser history boringly work-related – which really made Jared start to panic, because if Jensen was no longer interested in sex and the two of them no longer had that to sustain the relationship, then they were really screwed. And then he figured it out.

It’s probably cruel of him, but he was relieved to realize that it wasn’t _his_ fault. Jensen still wants him, he just – he’s currently not in a position to do anything about it. At least not when it comes to real sexual intimacy with just the two of them. He’s pretty sure Jensen’s still able to get it up on some occasions. The one time they actually spoke about the matter – after the best part of a bottle of single malt – Jensen admitted that he _can_ jerk off. Sometimes. If he’s in the right sort of mood. For some reason, that right sort of mood doesn’t seem to include Jared anymore. Or at least, that’s how it seems to Jared. Jensen also admitted that he’d had tests done, which was a surprise. But Jensen’s not stupid; he knows that this kind of problem can be the precursor to some serious physical health issues, and Jensen’s always been obsessive about his health. Happily, Jensen’s in good shape, there’s no physical reason for him to be having these problems.

Which of course leaves them with psychological causes, and that’s not something Jensen is remotely prepared to deal with, or God forbid, ever _talk_ about. And Jared gets it, of course he gets it. Jensen’s sexuality and virility have always been a huge part of who he is. Before the two of them got serious, Jensen was the quintessential alpha gay male on the prowl, with a laundry list of sexual conquests to his name. So Jared does understand, he gets how badly this must hit Jensen’s sense of self-worth. But it’s hard to be sympathetic when the fact of the matter is that it’s not just Jensen’s problem. If Jensen can’t have sex, then Jared can’t have sex. Jared’s willing to be patient and understanding and supportive, if he just knew that Jensen would actually _do_ something about it, instead of forcibly ignoring it. He’s tried discussing it, but Jensen won’t listen, just shuts him down as soon as he dares to mention anything.

He sighs loudly, pushing the frustrating thoughts away. His gaze catches on the clock on the dash and he swears. He’s late for work. He puts the car into gear and pulls out into traffic.

 

***

“You’re late.”

Jared turns his head, sees Jensen leaning over him, coffee mug in hand. “Yeah, ‘cause I had to drop off your kid at school.”

“My kid, huh?”

“Yup, way he was bitching about those damn shoes this morning, he’s definitely your kid.”

“Hmm.” Jensen’s eyes narrow on Jared’s screen. “That the animation for the new Brown campaign?”

“It is. Do you want to see it? It’s only half done and it’s,” he hesitates, “I don’t know, I think I hate it.”

“Show me,” Jensen says.

Jared presses the play button and leans to one side to give Jensen a good view of his screen. He watches the animated fruit dancing around and winces internally. The brief had been kitschy, fun, something that could appeal to kids as well as adults.

“It’s crap, isn’t it?” Jared says when it’s over.

“It’s what they asked for,” Jensen says, which is not really answering his question. “They’re the client.”

“I know that.” He sighs. “I think I definitely hate it.”

Jensen chuckles, tips his head back to drain the dregs of his coffee. He drops the empty mug onto Jared’s desk. He’s always doing that. The entire office is littered with Jensen’s abandoned coffee mugs. Jared usually has at least three of them on his desk by the end of the day.

“I’m going to the gym at lunchtime. You want to come? Might make you feel better, get you out of that funk.”

Jared resists the urge to retort: what funk? But this is an olive branch, the nearest Jensen ever gets to “I’m sorry, I want to make it up to you,” because Jared knows that he hates company when he’s working out. Jensen likes to be in the zone, use the time to think things over. Having a workout partner just distracts him.

“God, I’d love to, but I can’t. I got so much to do.” He turns his head, looks up at Jensen. “Sorry, man.”

Jensen shrugs, but he does look relieved, which makes Jared want to laugh. Jensen’s so transparent sometimes. But this is good; this is Jensen actually making an effort to make up for whatever they were fighting over before, though he’s not entirely sure what that was now. He and Jensen seem to spend so much time being mad at each other these days, resenting each other, and being generally frustrated, that he loses track sometimes. Sure, they’ve always fought plenty, and in the old days Jensen would’ve just given him the silent treatment for 24 hours before making a show of reluctantly allowing him back into his bed for awesome make-up sex. Unfortunately, make-up sex is currently off the table, which means that offers of working out at the gym together are about as good as it gets.

“Okay, suit yourself. I’ll see you in the heads meeting,” Jensen says.

Jared smiles at him and reaches to pat his cheek. His hand lingers, thumb brushing over Jensen’s top lip. Jensen’s mouth creases into a smile; he makes a move to bite Jared’s thumb. Jared snorts and snatches his hand away. Jensen grins, says, “Later, man.”

Jared watches his ass when he leaves the room and groans inwardly. He’s as horny as hell now. Underneath his desk, his left leg is jiggling up and down. He stills it, tilts his head back over the back of his chair, and sighs again. His body’s aching like he’s in bad need of a massage and a long night’s sleep, but more than that, he needs to get laid. Badly. He drums his fingers on the desk, the gold wedding band on his finger catches on the sunlight flashing through the gaps in the velour blinds. He stops tapping, spreads his fingers across the top of his desk and stares down at the ring.

There was a time when that ring on his finger was all he ever wanted: marriage to Jensen, having Jensen to himself, the two of them in a real, grown-up relationship and not whatever the hell they’d fumbled through for all those years. He was even willing to give up his idealistic dreams of a family and kids of his own; he was willing to trade all of that if he could just have Jensen. Of course, the irony is that now he’s got the husband and kid he’s always wanted, and yet, he’d never have chosen for it to happen like this, for them to lose so much in the process.

He jumps up from his chair, knee cracking the underside of the desk, making his pens, stapler, phone and Jensen’s coffee mug clatter. He ignores the jolt of pain to his knee and wanders around the office, over to the window. He leans back against the ledge and surveys his office. It’s been over two years but this office, this job, still doesn’t feel like it really belongs to him. Sometimes, he feels like an imposter, like someone playing the role, and he finds himself wondering just exactly what he’s supposed to be doing here, who he’s trying to kid. There are people, those who were here (well, not precisely here in New York, those who were back in Dallas in the beginning with Jensen and Stefan) who still think of the Art Director job as Stefan’s. Hell, Jared still thinks of it as Stefan’s. He’s just the placeholder. He used to wonder if he’d ever stop feeling like that, now he knows he’s never going to.

 

**

They’re having dinner, well, take-out. No Rebecca means no dinner waiting for them, which means take-out. They sit around the kitchen table and eat pizza off plates because they’re not goddamn savages (Jensen’s words) while Jonah talks about his day. He talks about school, about what Mr. Waters said about his toad, about how they’re keeping it in a tank in the classroom and how all the other kids were really impressed and jealous that he found it in the backyard.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Jensen says. “Swallow first.” He’s got a thick deck of PowerPoint slides heaped up by his plate and he’s leafing through them, brow furrowed as Jonah speaks.

Jonah makes an elaborate show of swallowing his pizza and changes subject to the story book Mr. Waters is reading them in class. It’s just as well the kid’s got so much to say, because Jensen is paging through his papers, scribbling all over them in pencil, and snapping at both of them when he actually does say anything. Jared didn’t see him for the rest of the day. The heads meeting was cancelled due to some crisis that had Jensen pacing around his office, frantically making calls, only emerging to yell at Alison, his assistant. He’s pretty sure Jensen didn’t get to the gym in the end, which is another reason he’s so damn cranky. Jensen gets very obsessive about his work-outs.

Jonah finishes off his pizza, pushes the uneaten crusts around his plate into a smiley face. It’s artistic, in a way. “Can I have dessert?” he asks, kicking his feet against one of the table legs.

“Stop that,” Jensen says, not looking up from his reading.

Jonah stops and makes a face.

“And stop that too. Just ‘cause I’m not looking at you, doesn’t mean I can’t see you.”

“How can you see me?” Jonah asks.

Jensen looks up from his reading, taps his finger against his temple. “I got eyes in the side of my head.”

“No you haven’t,” Jonah scoffs. “That’s stupid.”

“Hmm, that’s what you think,” Jensen says. Jonah looks unimpressed; he gives a lofty sigh and turns his attention to Jared. “Can I have dessert now? Please, Jared?”

Jared does bath and story time, Jensen does the clean-up. Not that pizza involves much in the way of clean-up. Jared follows Jonah up to bed, oversees his bath and teeth brushing, watches him umm and err over his shelves and shelves of books before he picks out _Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets._

“How many times have I read this to you?” Jared says.

Jonah shrugs. “I want it again. Please.”

“Okay,” he agrees. He doesn’t mind so much. After all, he did buy the last two Potter books on the day they came out.

Jonah gets into his bed, turning his face to Jared expectantly, ready for his story. Jared grins at him and opens the book.

He reads a couple of chapters; Jonah won’t let him get away with anything less than that. Jonah’s yawning by the time he closes the book and doesn’t protest when Jared pulls up the covers to tuck under his chin. Jonah rolls onto his side, brown hair spilling over his pillow case. He stretches out his hand to touch the photograph on his nightstand, finger caressing over Addie and Carmela’s smiling faces.

“Night, Momma,” he says. “Night, Carmela.”

And then it’s Jared’s turn: he brushes his fingers gently over Jonah’s finger smudges, over Addie and Carmela, as he says his own goodnight. They’re sitting on a hospital bed in the photo, newborn baby Jonah sleeping in Addie’s arms. Her face is red and shiny, her hair damp with sweat, pulled into a scruffy pony tail. Carmela’s arm is around her, her face just as shiny, eyes watery, but they’re both smiling, both alive and happy as they beam at the camera.

He can remember that day, Jonah’s birth. He can remember Jensen calling him from the hospital to tell him the news. Jensen was so excited, laughing and happy down the phone, so different from the Jensen he was used to. Stefan grabbed the phone from Jensen to shout something down the line, Jensen snatched it back, apologizing, “My friend’s an asshole, just ignore him, ignore everything he says,” – and then Stefan laughing, shouting in the background, “You’re a friggin’ parent, man! You’re a goddamned dad!” and Jensen laughing, saying, “You gotta come see him, Jay, he’s a bruiser, he’s a real bruiser.”

He’d only known Jensen five months when Jonah was born. Addie was already pregnant when he met her. He felt like he’d come in at the middle of the story, like he’d already missed too much important stuff, like it was too late for him to make a real impression on Jensen when he already had these other people that were older and more interesting around. Addie and Jensen were friends since high school, and Stefan was Jensen’s freshman roommate and the co-founder of Providence. They all had in-jokes and “do you remember when’s?” Jared knew that he couldn’t compete with Addie or Stefan, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to be something else to Jensen, something more than just the intern he had regular mid-blowing sex with. That phone call from the hospital on the day of Jonah’s birth was the first time he actually thought that Jensen might allow himself to reciprocate some of Jared’s feelings.

He can feel Jonah’s big green eyes watching him as he finishes saying goodnight to Addie and Carmela. He smiles down at him and smoothes the soft brown hair off his forehead.

“You all set there?” he asks.

Jonah nods sleepily.

“Okay, night then, kiddo.” He leans over to press a kiss to Jonah’s warm cheek.

“Night, Jared,” Jonah whispers. He’s still at the age when this special nighttime ritual makes sense, though sometimes Jared wonders how long that will last. He’s going to be seven in a couple of months, he’s a fiercely intelligent kid, never afraid to speak his mind or ask questions. _A dominant personality,_ his teacher said during the last PTA meeting, which made Jared snort and give Jensen a significant look, while Jensen just shrugged, looking unrepentant and pleased.

He watches Jonah burrow down into his covers and twist onto his front into his favorite sleeping position. He turns on the nightlight and watches the soft focus airplanes and cars float and dance across the ceiling. He leaves the door half-open when he leaves, with the landing light on. Hopefully tonight Jonah might sleep through till morning.

Downstairs, the kitchen’s clean, the dishwasher’s on and the Italian coffeemaker’s gurgling on top of the stove. Jared rescues it, turning down the burner, and looks up to see Jensen enter the room. Jared watches him gather up the coffeemaker, whiskey bottle and two glass cups. He’s looking happier than he was earlier, like he’s pleased with himself about something and trying to hide it.

“Okay, what gives? Why are you suddenly in a good mood?” Jared asks.

“Just had a message from Phil. We’ve got an in with Markov Optical. They’re going to let us pitch to them.”

“Seriously?” Jared blinks, pleased, smile edging across his face.

“Yup, for sure. That blond dude, you know? Mark something, the blond and craggy one. Apparently he had lots of good things to say about you. He asked to set up a meeting.”

“Mark Pellegrino,” Jared says, remembering. “I’ve only met him twice, and one time was at that Awards thing. I can’t even remember what we talked about.”

“Well, evidently he _does_ remember.” Jensen raises his eyebrows, pours a couple of generous measures of whiskey into the coffees, stirs both cups. “Something you want to tell me, Jare?”

“What? No, honestly, man, I have no idea.”

Jensen looks at him for a couple of seconds – it seems longer – then he shrugs.

“Jensen, c’mon, you can’t seriously think…” he trails off, spreads his hands in appeal.

Jensen’s still looking at him, he heaves out a sigh, tosses the teaspoon onto the counter. “Yeah, no, course not. I don’t think that. It’s just.” He shrugs, raises his hand to the back of his neck, ducks his head, avoiding Jared’s gaze. “I’m not blind. I know things aren’t great right now – with us.” He pauses; the corner of his mouth curls up wryly. “Let’s just say that if you started looking elsewhere for—“

“For sex,” Jared interrupts. “You mean, if I started fucking around with other guys, with potential clients? Is that what you’re trying to say? Do you want me to do that?”

Jensen’s not saying anything, a muscle jumping at his jaw as he keeps quiet. Jared’s fingers clench up at his sides, he wants to touch Jensen, to shake him. God, he’s so fucking _frustrated_. Why does it have to be so difficult? It doesn’t have to be. So why is it always so difficult? Why is Jensen so difficult? Jensen looks up to meet his gaze, he looks wary. His mouth opens, then shuts again, like he’s about to say something but hasn’t yet worked out what it is. It always surprises Jared that for someone who earns a living being good with words and slogans and copy and being able to hit people right where it hurts, Jensen is terrible at all types of real-life communication.

“I’m not going to cheat on you,” Jared says at last because it shouldn’t need saying out loud, it really shouldn’t, but evidently it does.

“Jared—“

“I’m not discussing this with you,” Jared cuts him off. He raises his left hand, waves it in Jensen’s face, the gold band catching in the light. “You remember this? The promises we made? I meant them. Every damn word. And I don’t care if we – if you can’t,” he hesitates, not missing Jensen’s flinch, the blatant unhappiness and tension in the way his face tightens. “Well, I do care, obviously. But Jesus, dude, give me some fucking credit. I’m not going out slutting around just because we’re, you know.”

“Because I’m incapable of getting it up,” Jensen finishes. “You can say the words. I won’t expire just because you said it out loud.”

“Okay,” he swallows, takes a breath, “because you’re incapable of getting it up.”

Jensen’s mouth twitches, but he keeps holding his gaze. “You want cream?”

It takes Jared a second to realize he’s talking about the Irish coffees and he nods. “Yeah, yeah. You know how I like it.”

“Right.” Jensen moves to the fridge, opens the door. He pauses there, one hand on the handle, the other on the edge of the refrigerator, head bowed as he peers inside. Jared watches him; he wants to touch him, wants to go up behind him and pull him into his arms. Jensen looks vulnerable from this angle, his bowed head exposing the nape of his neck.

Jensen retrieves the cream, the fridge door closing behind him with a puffy clank. He pours it into their coffees and gives them another stir. Jensen picks up his own drink, takes a sip, his eyes closing for a second as he savors the strong flavors. There are things Jared wants to tell him, to shake him and shout at him and get him to listen: _It’s always been you. Only ever been you. You know that. Whatever the fuck’s going on in your head, we can deal with it. You just got to let me in._

He doesn’t say any of that though, because it’s not the sort of thing they do. He watches Jensen turn and leave the room.

 

**

 

Jensen stands by the window in his home office and watches Jared and Jonah work on Jonah’s vegetable patch. They’re both kneeling in the dirt, elbow to elbow, Jonah digging enthusiastically at the soil with his trowel. The kid loves that damn vegetable patch. It was Jared’s idea of course, something he’d read about kids being more likely to eat and enjoy their vegetables if they’re able to grow them themselves. Privately, Jensen thinks Jonah just loves the excuse to get as dirty as he likes and not get yelled at for it.

He watches Jonah straighten up, brandishing a clump of turf and weeds in one hand which he waves in Jared’s face. Jared points him to the wheelbarrow, and Jonah trots across the grass to sling it in there, his rubber boots skidding on the damp grass when he turns back again. He’s wearing overalls, rubber boots and a plaid shirt. He looks like a 1930s dust bowl refugee, mud and dirt and grass stains streaked over the knees and legs of his pants, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and cheeks pink with exertion.

He crouches back down beside Jared, pushing aside Henry who has come to nose around at whatever they’re doing. Jared produces a packet of seeds from his shirt pocket, tears it open and pours the seeds into Jonah’s cupped hands while Jonah stares down at them reverently. Jared pours a few into his own enormous hand and turns back to the earth patch to demonstrate how to plant the seeds. His shirt slides up and his jeans slip down as he bends over, and Jensen stares at the strip of bare skin exposed, the tantalizing flash of his hipbones, the curve of his spine outlined in his old ratty t-shirt like a string of beads. He shuffles out the way to let Jonah slide in beside him and turns his head to watch Jonah, his mouth creasing into a fond grin as he says something to the boy. With the smears of dirt and sweat stains on his t-shirt he looks good enough to eat, and Jensen’s pretty sure he once saw a porno that started like this – minus the six-year-old, of course.

Jensen feels the welcome stirring of lust deep down in his belly, the accompanying ache in his balls. It’s nice to know that he’s still capable of feeling like this, even if his stupid dick is incapable of doing anything about it. He turns back to his desk, falls down heavily into his chair and kicks out his feet, groaning out loud to himself.

His gaze catches on one of the framed photos on his desk: him and Stefan standing in front of the Grand Canyon, wearing I LOVE THE GRAND CANYON t-shirts and baseball caps and grinning cheesily at the camera. His own face is pink, nose burnt from the sun, cheeks covered in freckles, and beside him Stef doesn’t look much better with his terrible 90’s haircut. Two dumb college kids on sophomore spring break, that mini road-trip they took together back in ‘97. He slept with ten different guys on ten different nights over that trip, and the last night... the one night he tried not to think about for so long afterwards, the one that almost ruined their friendship… He can still remember the awful drive back to UTD in near silence, playing _White Light, White Heat_ and _Station to Station_ too loud on the hissing car stereo. He still can’t listen to those albums without an accompanying prickle of self-consciousness and dread.

Stef was the one who brought it up in a diner three hours from home. He’d always been the brave one. “I don’t want this to ruin our friendship,” he said and Jensen thought about what a strange word friendship was. Where did the “ship” part come from? Like relationship, that was another weird word, relation he got but the ship part?

He nodded, kept his head bent, too embarrassed to look Stef in the face.

“We were drunk, it was just a stupid mistake,” Stef said, his tone pleading.

And Jensen clung to that convenient excuse, raising his head to see Stef’s agonized expression. “Yeah, God, we were so drunk.”

“Right.” Stef tried to smile at him, weak and watery. “And I don’t want you to think – that you and me. It’s not like that. I don’t feel like that about you, Jen. You believe me, don’t you?”

“Yeah, course, man. I know that,” he said. But he wondered. For a long time afterwards, he wondered, unable to stop himself.

What would he have done if Stef said something one day, if Stef really did feel _that_ way about him? He always seemed like the same old Stefan afterwards, but sometimes Jensen would catch him looking, and sometimes, when he remembered that night, when he remembered the shit Stef said and the way Stef had touched him and kissed him…

Maybe if Jared hadn’t come along, then perhaps Stef would’ve grown a pair and said something eventually. But Jensen’s so damn glad he didn’t. The thought is still too weird for him to contemplate, it’s just – just _wrong_. Stefan was his best friend, the brother he never had, his creative partner. They were going to do so many great things together. They’d already done so many things together: starting the business, growing it into something that was genuinely special. But their relationship wasn’t like _that_ , and Jensen could never feel that way about him. Even in the beginning that kind of attraction just wasn’t there for him, despite everything they had in common, despite what Stef liked to call their _folie à deux._

“Pretentious asshole,” he mouths, looking at Stef’s young, dumb, grinning face. He immediately feels bad, a painful twinge of remorse in his gut. “I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it,” he says instead.

And this is just great: he’s talking to a dead guy’s picture.

He smiles self-consciously and forces himself to look away from the photo of him and Stefan, back to his computer screen. He sighs heavily as he reads through the email open in front of him.

_Jensen, I know you won’t want to hear this and I thought long and hard about contacting you in this way. You know that I don’t like using email, telephone is more my thing, but as you won’t answer the phone when I call or return any of my messages, I’m resorting to this. I need to know why you’re not attending the memorial this summer. Your sister gave me the news and I have to say I was very surprised to hear it from her and not directly from you._

Jensen grimaces, that’s typical Dorothy, that subtle, passive-aggressive dig. A sudden memory of Addie on the phone to her Mom, her eyes creased in frustration, mouth clamped shut as she holds the phone away from her ear. He used to be jealous of Addie’s relationship with her mom, of the fact that Dorothy was interfering but at least she gave a shit about her daughter. Sure, he had Diana, and his big sister was always there for him, but she was still just his sister.

_Diana said you were all planning on going on vacation in Europe, which of course is very nice and a wonderful opportunity for Jonah to experience different cultures, but you must appreciate that this is the only time for Robert and I to see our grandson. We were counting on spending some time with him this summer. We’re not as young as we once were and with the loss of our darling Addie, it’s so hard for us to have our only grandson living so far away. We miss her and him every day and I know you say that we are always welcome to stay with you and Jared, but you live so far away and with Robert’s heart and my legs, it’s very hard for us to make the trip._

Oh God, it’s not even like the vacation-in-Europe thing is anything more than a pipe dream. One that he really fucking regrets mentioning to his sister now. It’s Jared’s idea of course, he’s always wanted to visit Paris and Rome and London and experience the art and culture, see the Mona Lisa and Big Ben and the Coliseum and every other tourist trap going. Jensen’s not against the idea, though he’s more enthused by the thought of a week in the south of France or on a Greek island than traipsing around a big city staring at art and buildings. Just give him a gorgeous beach, some gorgeous guys to ogle, (though just Jared would do him), and a reliable kids’ club where they can dump Jonah for the day. It’s been a long time since they had a vacation; hell, it’s been a really long time since they took any time off at all.

_Jensen, you’re a good boy and you have a good heart underneath. You were always such a great friend to my daughter and I was so very happy when she told us all those years ago that you agreed to help her have a baby. I know we’ve had our differences in the past but I always hoped that we could get past them for Jonah’s sake, we are family after all. I remember all those dinners at our house and taking photographs of you and Addie before Senior Prom, you were such a handsome couple. Whatever has been said between us, you know that you and Jared are always welcome in our home. Please don’t shut us out of Jonah’s life and please think again about attending the memorial. I understand how painful the memories are for you both, they’re hard for us too, remembering what was done to our beautiful girl, but it’s so important to not let her memory fade._

_With all my love, Dorothy._

He closes the email with a rough click of the mouse button. Jesus, he so doesn’t need this. He glances at the spreadsheet on the screen. Well, if things keep going the way they’re going in the Dallas office, he might be making the trip there sooner than anticipated. Maybe he could bring Jonah along for the ride, drop him with his grandparents for a couple of days while he delivers a major ass-whupping to Frank and Rudy and whoever else they’ve got running things into the ground over there. At least that way, if Dorothy gets to see Jonah now, she might shut up about them not attending the goddamn memorial this year.

He jumps out of his seat and paces across to the window again. Jonah’s holding his watering can, a smaller version of the colossal thing Jared’s got, and he’s frowning in concentration as he tips it up to water his seeds, using both hands. As if he can feel Jensen’s eyes on him, Jared turns his head and looks towards him. Jared smiles and nudges Jonah who looks up and waves, grinning toothily at him in a way that is pure Addie. People always say that Jonah is the spitting image of him, but in so many ways, he’s just like his mother. Jensen nods and waves back at them, before Jonah’s attention reverts back to his seeds.

He smiles faintly and goes back to the spreadsheet open on his computer, though God knows he doesn’t want to. Whatever way he looks at it, the Dallas office is not doing well. Sales have been down two quarters on the bounce now. Old accounts have left, and now even Morgan is threatening to jump ship, which, if it happens, could completely shut down operations in Dallas. Morgan Industries, their biggest client, is worth 40% of the Dallas office’s billings. Of course, Jeff Morgan knows this, and he’s flexing his muscles, and Jensen knows that it’s going to take a hell of a lot of diplomacy on his part to get Morgan back on their side once more. The entire situation is a royal fuckup, _his_ fuckup. He’s taken Jeff for granted the past couple of years. When they were in Dallas, it was regular 1-1 meetings and plum spots at all their hospitality events, not to mention the very _personal_ relationship he and Jeff enjoyed for so many years. Since he got married and moved out east all of that has tailed off.

The thing is he owes Jeff. Jeff came on board when Jensen was just a loud-mouthed 24-year-old with a tiny start-up who talked big and promised even bigger. Jeff gave him a chance, and okay, some of it was due to just how incredible the sex always was between them, but it wasn’t just about sex. Sure, Jensen knows he’s a damn good lay, but Jeff’s a damn good businessman and he wouldn’t be led around by his dick _that_ much. No, Jeff believed in him and he showed it by removing his business from one of the biggest names in advertising and transferring it to a no-name Texan start-up. He bet heavily on Jensen and Stefan and they delivered for him. Unfortunately, it seems that they’re not delivering anymore. The work’s still good, Jensen would never allow subpar work to go out under their name, but producing good work for clients is only part of the job. Jeff expects a lot more than just good work. He’s feeling neglected and he’s letting Jensen know it.

Jensen opens up his calendar and drops a quick email off to his assistant, asking her to look into flights to Dallas next week for him and Jonah. He’s just about done when Jonah comes running into the room, still in his dirty overalls, though thankfully his shoes are off. The kid knows better than to track dirt on Jensen’s hardwood floors and angora wool carpets.

“Are you finished yet?” Jonah asks.

Jensen scoots his desk chair back, pats his knee. “C’mere,” he says.

Jonah clambers onto his lap, the chair groaning in protest. Jensen curls his arm around Jonah’s middle and pulls him in, pressing his mouth to his wind-tangled hair. He smells of earth and leaves and kiddie shampoo. Jonah squirms, rubbing his bony butt on Jensen’s thighs, feet kicking against Jensen’s shins. He’s all skin and bone, despite the amount of food he eats, and Jensen feels an intense urge to pull him in closer, hold him tight and not let go.

It surprises him sometimes, this overpowering love he feels for his son. He guesses most people wouldn’t feel like that, most people love their children and don’t even think about it. But he never wanted to be a father. He didn’t want ties or family. His business and his work would be his legacy. Something as banal and ordinary as having a kid would never be for him.

When Addie started her relentless campaign of persuasion, he first rolled his eyes at her and told her to quit yanking his chain. It took him a while to realize she was being deadly serious. She and Carmela wanted a baby and they wanted Jensen to be the baby-daddy. In the end, he gave in, as he always gave in to Addie. She was better than any account man he’d ever recruited, better even than him, and the persuasion business _was_ his business. Half of it was pure flattery on her part, and the other half was her solemn promise that he wouldn’t have to be involved, not at all. “All we want is your sperm, babe. Just think of yourself as our personal stud-farm,” she told him with one of her infuriating smiles. “I don’t want you at Lamaze classes and you’d be a liability at the birth. After the kid’s born, he or she will already have two mommies, so it’s up to you if you want to be a dad or if you want to contribute. That’s your call. We won’t expect anything from you.”

But after Jonah was born, he felt differently. It shocked him, the sensation he felt holding this tiny person that was half him and half Addie. He hated babies, barely tolerated his sister’s two boys, preferring to abdicate his responsibility as uncle by just buying them shit instead of actually spending time with them, and yet, he couldn’t get enough of Jonah. Jonah fascinated him and moved him and made him feel things that he didn’t even realize he was capable of, and after Addie and Carmela died _(were murdered)_ , he didn’t even think twice. Jonah was his son; no one else was going to raise him but him.

Dorothy and Robert, Addie’s parents, had other ideas. Luckily, Addie insisted on putting Jensen’s name on the birth certificate, which he didn’t want at the time, stupid, selfish dick that he was. But it was his saving grace, and after he married Jared and hired the best lawyer he could get, Dorothy and Robert didn’t stand a chance. Still, things got more than a little unpleasant between them all, and his relationship with Jonah’s grandparents is still tense: exhibit number one being Dorothy’s email. But Jensen didn’t regret the mudslinging and accusations they threw at each other. It wasn’t pretty, but it was worth it.

Jonah shifts on his lap, pokes his elbow into Jensen’s stomach. “What are you working on?” he says, squinting at the screen.

“Profit and loss accounts for the last quarter,” Jensen tells him.

“What’s that?”

“It tells you what money the company’s made and what money we’ve spent,” Jensen explains, pointing out the relevant columns on the spreadsheet. He never dumbs things down for the kid. Jonah’s smart, all his teachers say so. “It’s very important for us to make more money than we spend so we can invest it back into the business to make the business better.”

“Are you seriously trying to explain microeconomics to a six-year-old?” Jared says.

Jensen looks away from the screen, at Jared leaning against the doorjamb watching them. “He’s a very smart six-year-old. He can handle it, can’t you, buddy?”

“Yup,” Jonah nods, looking pleased. “You make lots of money, don’t you, Dad?”

Jensen nods solemnly, “Yes, that’s right. So I can spend it all on you. Hey, how’d you like to go on a trip with me next week?”

“Jensen…” Jared pushes himself off the doorjamb, comes into the room.

“Where will we go?” Jonah asks, squirming on Jensen’s lap so he can look at him.

“Dallas. To go visit Granny and Grandpa. You want to go see them? We can go on a plane.”

“Can we stay in a hotel, too?”

“Maybe, we’ll see.”

“Jensen,” Jared repeats, sounding more annoyed. “He’s got school.”

“He can skip school for a couple of days. How important can it be at his age?”

Jonah whips his head around to look at Jared. “I want to go with Dad.”

Jared sighs irritably and glares at him – the look that means this isn’t over. Jensen ducks his head, feeling guilty, and presses another kiss to Jonah’s hair.

 

**

“You can’t just randomly take him out of school and on a trip to Dallas!” Jared protests. “And when the hell were you going to tell me about this?”

“I told you immediately,” Jensen answers. “I only decided to go three minutes before you guys came inside.”

Jared sighs loudly, waves his hands around some more. He’s always like this when he’s angry, agitated and dramatic, like he’s in front of an audience. “God! You can’t just decide things like that and then drop it on him and – what if you changed your mind? You’d just end up disappointing him. It’s not fair.”

“I have to go out there. You know that,” Jensen says, gritting his teeth, “you’ve seen the figures. You’ve seen how much we’re losing. And now Morgan’s threatening to drop us.”

Jared stops in his dramatic pacing and turns around. “Morgan?”

“Yeah, Morgan, our biggest client.”

Jared’s eyes narrow in on him suspiciously. Jared doesn’t like Jeff Morgan, never has. But then Jared knows about Jeff and Jensen, Jared was there. Morgan was one of the reasons Jensen refused to commit to Jared for so long. Jared’s got good reason to resent Jeff Morgan.

“If he pulls the plug, that would shut us down, you know that, Jay.”

“Maybe the Dallas office. We should be okay here.”

“So? You want Dallas to fail?”

“No, God, no, of course not!” Jared lets out a long exhale, throws himself down into the seat opposite Jensen’s desk. “I hate the idea of you going out there and – and being _beholden_ to him, begging him to keep his damn business. I wish we didn’t need his damn business. This way he knows he’s got you in a corner and we both know what he really wants from you.”

Jensen looks at him. He looks genuinely worried, like Jensen’s about to start shit up with Jeff Morgan again, just to keep his business, like Jensen would actually consider doing that.

“Thanks for having so much faith in me,” he says dryly.

Jared darts a look at him, he looks surprised, hurt. “Jensen, no, I do have faith in you. I know how persuasive you can be, I know you can fix things. But you and him.” He pauses for a second then he bursts out abruptly: “I hate it. I hate the idea of the two of you. And me and you, the ways things are right now. I know they’re not perfect. What’s going on between us…” _What’s going on with you and your useless limp penis, Jensen. We used to fuck three times a day, and now you can’t even get it up for three seconds..._ Jared doesn’t say that of course, but Jensen hears it, feeling the accompanying curl of shame and self-disgust in his belly.

“Nothing like that’s going to happen.” He leans onto the desk, meeting Jared’s gaze. “I mean it. But we got to be practical here. At the moment, we need his business. Without it we’re in serious trouble. This is our business – our life. This is…” _Stef’s legacy, this is what he left me,_ he thinks. Jared’s watching him closely, as if he’s hearing the unspoken words. “You can work on the new Brown stuff and the Markov pitch while I’m out there. Hell, you’ll probably like having the house to yourself for a few days. Go out, have fun, hang out with some kids your own age.”

“Right,” Jared says. He blinks, tries to smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”


	2. Chapter 2

[ ](http://sonofabiscuit77.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/450/37057)

**CHAPTER TWO**

The next couple of days are busy, prep for the Markov pitch, not to mention the new Brown campaign, plus all the BAU crap. The artwork for Markov is almost signed off, though Jared’s still not sure about it. On Friday, he takes a leaf out of Jensen’s book and spends three hours in the gym after work. He relaxes in the steam room, eyes closed and head tilted back against the wet tiles. He listens to the hiss and fizz of the steam vents and tries to visualize what they’re attempting to say. 

He heads back to the office afterwards. It’s late enough that all the cleaners have gone home. He hasn’t worked this late for ages. It’s not like it used to be in Dallas, not now they have a kid. He likes to be at home in time for Jonah’s bedtime, it’s what they agreed when they moved out here. But Jonah and Jensen are in Dallas right now, and Jared’s got a lot of time to himself. 

He takes out the almost finished Markov artwork, looks at it for a good few minutes then tosses it to one side. His gut instinct is that it’s not enough. It hasn’t got the wow factor and they need the wow factor to win this account. He gets out his pencils and a new sheet of paper and starts again. 

He’s not used to coming in at the beginning anymore, creating something from scratch, like he used to do in college, back when he thought of himself as an “artist” and not an “art director”. These days he’s the guy who signs stuff off, who adds the finishing touches to everybody else’s work. It’s a rush to let his creative instincts run free, to sketch out ideas, to land on something he likes and run with it, to feel the buzz of something he knows could be really good. He jots down notes on colors and fonts and stock images. They’re starting with print and outdoor, though he’s got a possibly awesome idea for an online video.

By the time he’s ready to leave he’s got a drafted storyboard idea for the video, three possible options for the outdoor and print ads and he feels exhilarated about work in a way he hasn’t for a long time. He packs the work up and heads down to the parking garage. 

His phone rings just as he’s turning onto Sleepy Hollow Road. There’s not much traffic around at this time of night, so he picks up the phone. He frowns when he sees the display: Dorothy and Robert’s home number. 

“Hello?” 

It’s Dorothy who answers in a rush of breath and apologies, “Oh, Jared, I’m so sorry to bother you at this time of night—“ 

“Is Jonah okay?” he cuts her off. His heart-rate has picked up, anxiety making sweat burst and prickle under his arms. 

“He’s having some problems sleeping. We found him downstairs in the kitchen right by the knife drawer! And he didn’t recognize us, he was still asleep. And his face, Jared, the look in his eyes.” 

“Is he awake now?” 

“Yes, but he’s so distressed. He won’t stop crying and he won’t talk to us. I don’t know what to do and Jensen’s not picking up—“ 

“Where is Jensen?” he interrupts again. He’s nearly at home, concentrating fiercely on the road as he puts his foot on the gas. 

“I don’t know. He’s not answering his phone. He said he had a client dinner tonight and he’d be late, but I thought he’d be back by now.” 

Morgan, Jared thinks bitterly, he’ll be with Morgan. He glances at the clock on the dash. It’s just after 3am here, which makes it after 2am in Dallas. The driveway looms into view and he swings the car through the narrow opening, hearing the gravel crunch under the wheels. He pulls up outside the house and kills the engine. 

“Is Jonah able to come to the phone?” he says. 

There’s a flurry of noise in the background, the sound of voices, Dorothy and Robert, and then unmistakably, Jonah. He sits tensely in the car, staring at their darkened house and waiting for someone to pick up. There’s a hitch of breath and then a teary voice says, “Jared?” 

“Hey, buddy, yeah, that’s right, it’s me.” 

Jonah sounds small and faraway and Jared feels his chest clench up. He talks softly to Jonah for a while, gratified to hear his hitched breathing begin to even out. He feels useless, so far away, and curses out Jensen. What the hell is he doing still out at this time? 

Dorothy comes back to the phone after he’s finished talking to Jonah. She sounds tired and strained and he promises to try to get hold of Jensen again. 

By the time he gets out the car and makes it to the house, it’s 3.30am. He dials Jensen’s phone as he shoves the front door open. It flicks onto voicemail and he swears loudly, slamming the door behind him. He sends Jensen a text, all caps, which Jensen hates, but he’s not in the mood for niceties. WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? YOUR SON NEEDS YOU. CALL D&R NOW. 

He’s too wired to think about going to bed, keeping his phone close as he pours himself a large glass of red wine and falls onto the couch. He puts on the TV and gets out his sketchpad. The earlier burst of creativity has not left him yet and he’s still buzzing with it, concern and anger warring as he furiously sketches. He’s drawing Jensen of course; Jensen and Jonah, together as they were at the airport when he dropped them off two days ago. Jonah’s hand in Jensen’s, wheeling his kiddie sized suitcase, a mini replica of Jensen’s Louis Vuitton executive luggage. They paused on their way to the executive lounge and Jonah waved an excited goodbye while Jensen flashed him an anxious smile. Jensen’s never been a good flyer. 

He puts the sketch aside when he’s done, and starts on another. He can sketch Jensen from memory; he’s done it so many times before. In the old days, back when he was a student, he always had a sketchbook on him. He must have made hundreds of drawings of Jensen over the years. Jensen’s got one of those faces. He’s very drawable, or whatever you would call the pencil and paper equivalent of photogenic. No matter how many times he does it, he’s never gotten bored of drawing Jensen. 

He’s more than halfway through the bottle of wine and has a pile of four or five sketches, all of Jensen in various poses, from various angles, when his phone rings. He glances at the display, JENSEN. 

“Is everything okay?” he answers, not bothering with hello. 

Jensen lets out a breath on the other end of the line, a hitch in his voice that’s half-tiredness and half-amusement. “It will be. How about you? Are you alright, Jare?” 

“Never mind me, what about Jonah? Are you with him?” 

“Yeah, yeah I am. He’s fine,” Jensen says, “I’m sitting in the corner of Addie’s old room, watching him sleep. He was – God – he was really upset when I got here. Sounds like he had a really bad episode.” 

“It’s probably just the change of location, somewhere unfamiliar. We should’ve thought about it,” Jared says. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Jensen sighs. He sounds unconvinced. “I’m taking him to the hotel with me tomorrow night. I managed to convince Dorothy it was the right thing.” They’re both quiet for a couple of beats, then Jensen says, “Listen, thanks, man. For talking to him before. Dorothy told me how much better he was after he got off the phone with you. He kept asking for you when I put him to bed. You’re so good for him, Jay.” Jared frowns, stares at the half-finished drawing on his lap. It’s a profile sketch of Jensen, his mouth slightly curved up at the corners, like it is when he’s trying not to laugh. He’s still angry with Jensen but the feeling’s dissipating and Jensen sounds so freaking sincere. “We miss you, you know,” Jensen adds. 

_Is that why you were out until 3am with Jeff Morgan?_ Jared wants to retort, but he doesn’t say that. He’s not that kind of person, he hates holding grudges, and he really hates being mad at Jensen. Besides, he can tell from Jensen’s voice that he means what he’s saying. Jensen’s an uncommunicative, complicated bastard, but he’s always straight with people. If Jensen says something, then he means it, and if he’s pissed with you, then you know it. 

“I miss you too,” he says finally, “both of you.” 

Jensen chuffs out a breath. “God, we’re pathetic.”

“Speak for yourself.” 

Jensen snorts again and Jared smiles to himself. “So, you haven’t said how things went with Morgan,” he says. 

There’s a pause before Jensen speaks, “Okay. I think.” 

“You think?” 

“God, I don’t know. I managed to convince him to not move all his business, but he’s still moving some of it. He’s really enjoying letting me squirm. He knows that if he pulls the plug Dallas goes down and he says he doesn’t want to see us fail. Big of him, I think you’d agree.” The bitterness is palpable in his voice. It’s painful to hear but Jared can’t help the feeling of relief. He’d prefer Jensen to feel resentful of Morgan than grateful towards him. It’s not that he’s jealous or he thinks Jensen ever would do anything with Morgan, it’s just that... Oh hell, whatever, he _is_ jealous. He’s always been jealous of Jensen’s relationship with Jeff Morgan. Jensen never did romantic relationships, or at least he didn’t before Jared. The nearest Jensen ever got were a couple of regular fuck buddies and Jeff Morgan, who was definitely something more than a fuck-buddy. Jared’s pretty sure that if Jeff wasn’t married, and if Jeff’s wife wasn’t an oil heiress with a lot of money to her name, Jeff and Jensen would’ve been a lot more serious than they were. As it is, he knows that Jensen cared about Morgan, that he had feelings for him that were more than “he’s hot, he’s great in bed, and he’s our best client.” It’s one of the reasons this is so hard for Jensen now. 

“I think we’ll probably end up losing about 40 percent of his business,” Jensen says, “which leaves us with enough income to sustain the office for the next few months. But we’ll have to win some new accounts. And drastically reduce costs.” He pauses and sighs again, “Fuck it, I’m exhausted, Jare, and you must be too. We’ll talk this over when I get back.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Jared says. He feels suddenly overwhelmingly tired. He glances at the clock. It’s 5.30am, it’ll be light in an hour. At least without Jonah around, he’ll be able to sleep in for once. 

“So, I guess I’ll say goodnight then,” Jensen says. 

“Yeah, night, baby,” he says, using the endearment Jensen so rarely lets him get away with, but Jensen’s already rung off. 

 

**

Jared’s awoken a couple of hours later by Henry barking and nosing at the side of the bed. He groans and forces himself to get up. The dog chases around his legs as he makes his lumbering way downstairs. He opens the kitchen door to let Henry out, fills his food and water bowls and leaves them outside on the deck. He goes back to bed. 

It’s midday when he wakes up again. He showers, shaves and eats an enormous breakfast. There are no messages or missed calls from Jensen and when he tries to call his cell he just gets voicemail. He does the dishes and stands by the kitchen sink, staring out the window at the yard. He’s supposed to be having dinner with Mark Pellegrino, CEO of Markov Optical tonight. Mark called him yesterday to suggest it. Considering all the shit going on with Morgan right now, it’s more important than ever for them to win and keep accounts. Saying no would’ve shown them as uncooperative. Besides, he was pissed with Jensen at the time, it was kind of fun to say yes to dinner with a guy he knows admires him. 

Right now, in the cold and thin light of day, he’s regretting it. He’s exhausted from last night. He’s not feeling sociable; he’s definitely not up to the kind of sociable that involves flirting with a potential client. He hasn’t told Jensen about the dinner yet, or about his cold feet. Jensen would never understand his reluctance, for Jensen this is just part of the job, he’s always wining and dining clients. Jensen has a talent for knowing exactly how far to push things, how much flirting and innuendo might get them an account. In fact, Jared knows from his intern days, and from things Stefan used to say that Jensen definitely went way past flirtation with quite a few of their clients, example number one being Jeff Morgan of course. 

But the bottom line is that Mark’s got all the sway in deciding who Markov decide to retain, and if this dinner can actually help sway Mark’s opinion in Providence’s direction, then it’s a no-brainer. He needs to approach it like Jensen would: like it’s just more hours on the clock. 

He blinks, aware that he’s been staring out the window all this time. He frowns when his gaze catches on the back fence, the spot on the east corner where a storm blew it down three weeks ago. Jensen’s been talking about hiring someone to fix it, by which he means, getting his assistant, Alison, to hire someone to fix it. But fuck that. They don’t need to hire someone, they can do it themselves. Or at least, Jared can do it himself; Jensen would never stoop that low. Jensen would just shrug his shoulders and say, “That’s what I make so much money for. So I don’t have to do any goddamn manual labor.” 

Decision made, he goes to find his tool belt. Jensen got him the belt for his last birthday, handing it over with a quirk of his eyebrow and a leer which promised interesting things, like re-enacting some of Jared’s favorite porno scenes for a start. But given the sorry state of their sex life, it’s only ever been used for more legitimate pursuits, such as fixing the tap in the downstairs bathroom, or putting up bookshelves in Jonah’s room. 

He strides out the back door with Henry capering at his feet, feeling determined. An hour later, the determined feeling has morphed into smug satisfaction as he takes a step backwards to admire his handiwork. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he snatches it up, all ready to wow Jensen with boasts of his manly capabilities. Unfortunately, it’s not Jensen on the line, it’s his mom. 

He considers not accepting the call but in the end he sighs and gives in. If he doesn’t answer straight away, she’ll keep trying and trying, and if she doesn’t get him within an hour, she’ll start calling everyone he knows until someone tracks him down and screams at him to call her. 

“Hi, Agnes,” he greets her. 

As usual, she doesn’t return the greeting, just launches into one of her monologues that covers her neighbors’ lack of consideration in always watching their TV too loudly, Dana at work who’s been cutting her shifts, how little Dana deserved her recent promotion, a student in her tap class with cerebral palsy (and really, she’s all for equal rights, but really, the girl can _barely_ walk), some very pushy girl from the bank who tried to sell her life insurance, and her migraines. Jared listens to her and makes sympathetic noises when required. 

Finally she asks, “So, how are things with you?” 

“You know, okay. Same as usual.” 

“That’s what you always say. You should talk to me, Jared, I’m your mother.” 

“I do. There’s just not much to report. Business is doing fine, Jensen’s fine, Jonah’s fine, I’m fine. It’s all fine.” Which of course is far from the truth, but he gave up a long time ago on actually telling his mother anything that’s going on in his life. 

She pauses then says, “I see. Well if you’ve got nothing else to say, can I speak to my grandson?” 

“He’s not here.” 

“Why not?” 

“He’s in Dallas. With Jensen.” 

“And they left you behind? Jared, what have I told you about always letting people walk all over you. You’ll never gain anyone’s respect that way. It’s all very well, wanting people to like you, but it’s respect that counts. No one respects a doormat.”

He grits his teeth, says, “It’s for the business. Jensen had to fly to Dallas to check in with the office there and he took Jonah along to visit with his grandparents.” 

“Oh, the business!” she says contemptuously. 

“Look, Agnes, I have to—“ 

“Oh, I get it, you have so many important things to do. Don’t worry about me; I won’t keep you any longer.” 

She hangs up. 

He’s fuming as he finishes fixing the fence. He should be used to their conversations by now. He should be able to let it all run over him as Jensen always advises, not let her bitterness and sourness and belittling comments get to him. But he can’t remember their relationship every being _this_ bad. In the old days she was Agnes, eccentric and indestructible and uncompromising and always embarrassing. She never wore the right clothes, never said the right things, always talked too loudly. If he took friends home then she’d offer them alcohol and pat their cheeks, tell stories of her days in Paris or Nice or Barcelona, of the famous people she’d worked with and the shows she’d been in. He spent most of his teenage years dying of mortification. 

Of course, it took him until he was in his twenties to appreciate just how tough things had been for her. It’s not the sort of thing you realize when you’re a teenage boy and your life sucks, and shit, as if everything couldn’t get any worse, as if you couldn’t be more of a freak, you like boys. But now that he’s a parent, in some ways he does understand her more. But in other ways... it’s worse. He could never imagine saying half of the shit she says to him to Jonah, no matter how crappy his life got. And he wants to be fair to her, he really does. He gets how hard it was for her when he was growing up. She did everything for him. She cooked and cleaned and mended his clothes, she worked really long hours at the theatres and clubs and studios, always having to skip out of rehearsal early because she had a kid. It was tough, and he knew that it was his fault she never got those big roles she always dreamed of. 

She never had any luck with relationships either. There was always a new guy joining them for breakfast or dinner, some of them assholes, a lot of them just regular guys who couldn’t hack the drama or intensity of being with Agnes. There was a couple who lasted longer, like Uncle Peter who brought them to the US when Jared was five. He bailed on them three years later, though Jared still bore his name: Padalecki, that was Uncle Peter’s name, the one Jared’s never bothered changing. Not that he knows who his real father is; Agnes has never been sure either, saying it was probably the tall Croatian boy who waited tables at the nightclub in Marseille. “But it doesn’t matter,” Agnes would say with an elegant wave of her hand, “Marilyn Monroe never knew who her real father was, and she was a real star.” 

But these days their conversations are barely civil. She hates what he’s doing with his life. She hates advertising, hates the fact he’s no longer creating real art. And she hates Jensen. She refused to attend the wedding, still refuses to stay with them when she visits east, though she’s always willing to be put up in a fancy hotel at Jensen’s expense. Ironically, Jonah, Jensen’s son, is the only person she seems to have any real affection for, and she lavishes love and attention and presents on him whenever she does visit. 

But he can remember when things weren’t like this between them. She was amazing when he came out to her. She pulled him close and stroked his hair and said, “Of course my baby likes boys, it’s the only sensible thing.” Unfortunately her acceptance didn’t extend as far as the guys he dated or the one he chose to spend the rest of his life with. Not that he doesn’t second guess that decision himself from time to time. 

Whatever, he needs to stop thinking about Agnes. Jensen’s always telling him that he needs to let it go, to quit beating himself up about her. “She can look after herself,” Jensen says, which is true, but doesn’t stop him from worrying or feeling guilty. 

 

** 

Jared’s sweating in his leather jacket and fancy burgundy button-down as he sits on the train heading into the city. He checks into his hotel and nervously primps in front of the bathroom mirror before he walks the four blocks to the restaurant. 

Mark’s waiting for him at the table, an Old Fashioned resting by his elbow. He gets up to take Jared’s hand with a welcoming smile. He’s not a handsome guy, he’s what Agnes would call “jolie laide”, appealing and charismatic but not handsome, not like Jensen. Of course, not many people look like Jensen. Jared can remember thinking the first time he ever met Jensen that he was the most attractive guy he’d ever seen who wasn’t on TV. It’s an opinion that hasn’t changed. 

“First of all, no shop-talk,” Mark says. “My mind’s already made up, so nothing you say is going to change it.” 

Jared feels his heart sink, he nods, forces a smile. “Okay, that’s fine by me.” 

Mark smirks around the rim of his glass. “Don’t look so disappointed. The news is good.” 

“Really? I mean, we haven’t even pitched yet.” 

Mark shrugs. “I’ve heard good things. I’ve seen what you do. That last Brown campaign was excellent. I know you won’t let me down.” 

Jared nods, “Right, so no pressure then.” 

“None at all,” Mark says, lowering his glass and smiling at Jared. His smile is a little wolfish, a little predatory. It reminds Jared disconcertingly of Jensen, of watching him sweet-talk someone into bed or into business; there was never much difference in how Jensen operated. “You want a drink?” 

The food is amazing, and he really enjoys it, making appreciative noises as he clears his plate, which seems to amuse Mark. They drink Old Fashioneds and some good red wine. He’s not an expert on wine, it’s more Jensen’s thing, but he knows what he likes. He takes down the name and vintage in his BlackBerry, which also amuses Mark. In fact, Mark seems to be generally amused by him, watching him with this little curl to his mouth and a glint in his eyes that Jared’s not quite sure about. He gets up to go to the bathroom, and he can feel Mark’s eyes on him, blatantly checking him out as he walks away. 

It’s nice to feel sexually desired again, he thinks, as he checks out his reflection in the washroom. He used to love the ritual and rigmarole of dating, the excitement and anticipation, the look of appreciation in the other guy’s face when their eyes met. Chad used to rag his ass about it all the time, calling him The Serial Dater, and saying it was freaking unnatural for a dude, even a gay dude. 

Jensen wasn’t into dating. “That’s why we’re men,” he always said, “so we can skip the boring getting-to-know-you crap, and fast-forward to the fucking.” He and Jensen never dated. They hung out and had a lot of sex. Occasionally they went places together, usually with the rest of Jensen’s friends. It wasn’t dating. Even now that they’re married, he can’t remember the last time they went out to dinner or to a movie or even just for a drink together. 

“So, you’re married,” Mark says after they’ve cleared dessert. He leans over to top up Jared’s glass. “How’s that working for you?” 

Jared pushes out a breath, he’s feeling kinda drunk, his face flushed from the alcohol. There’s a bead of sweat on his upper lip and he licks it off, tasting the saltiness. He can feel Mark’s eyes on his face, on his mouth, and he feels the flush deepen. 

“It’s good,” he says at last. 

“Really?” says Mark. He doesn’t look convinced, his eyebrows arched, expression knowing as he takes a long sip of his wine. 

Jared shrugs. “Yeah, well, you know how it is. Or maybe you don’t. I don’t know. Are you married?” 

“Divorced.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. It was a mistake – for both of us. Wrong gender, for a start.” 

Jared makes a face. “Yikes.” 

“Yeah.” Mark leans back in his seat. His eyes narrow, his gaze getting more heated, more deliberate. “Sometimes, you don’t realize something about yourself – or else, you realize it deep down, but you don’t want to admit it. For me, it was like that. What about you?” 

“I pretty much always knew I was gay,” Jared says with a quirk of his lips. “Like, from when I realized what my dick was for, you know, it was always boys for me. I can’t understand what it’s like to be attracted to a woman. It’s just never happened to me.” 

“So you’ve never been with a woman?” 

“Not even a kiss,” he says with a forced chuckle. “I guess in some people’s eyes that makes me a virgin.” 

Mark laughs, drains the rest of his glass. He picks up the bottle, does a double-take when he realizes it’s empty. “Huh,” he says, blinking, shaking the bottle in his hand. “So that happened.” 

Jared laughs, Mark looks up, grins at him. He’s got a nice smile, good teeth. “You want another drink?” he says. 

“I wouldn’t say no to an Irish coffee,” Jared says, because what the hell, he’s having a good time. Jensen’s probably doing something with Jeff Morgan anyway. He watches Mark summon the waiter. He’s got the same kind of easy assurance as Jensen, the sort that waiters and doormen and bartenders immediately respond to. Jared watches him surreptitiously, trying to decide how old the guy is. It’s hard to tell. He’s older than Jensen, maybe by about eight or nine years, and like Jensen, he’s obviously used to getting his own way. 

They drink their Irish coffees and Mark asks for the check. When it arrives, Jared stretches out a hand to get it. This is a client dinner after all, and he’s got an expense account. But Mark stills him, placing his hand over Jared’s. His fingers are shorter than Jared’s, kind of stubby with blunt nails. 

“No, my treat,” he says. 

“But you’re the client,” Jared protests. 

Mark raises an eyebrow and tightens his grip on Jared’s hand. His grip is _hard_. “What did I say? Tonight – no work, no shop-talk. Just me, asking you, out for dinner. Ergo, my treat.” 

Jared gives in, pulling his hand away. “Good boy,” Mark says. 

Jared blushes and mumbles an excuse about going to the bathroom. By the time he’s come out again, Mark’s standing in the lobby holding Jared’s jacket over his arm. Jared takes it from him, saying, “Thanks. And, uh, thanks – for the dinner.” 

“My pleasure,” says Mark. 

They step out of the restaurant. The doorman appears, asking them if they want a cab, and Mark waves the guy away, saying they can walk. Jared watches him, tries to think how he can end the evening without pissing him off too much. He’s had plenty of experience blowing guys off, being nice and polite but firm, saying, “It’s been swell, but I don’t think this is going to work out.” He knows how to do that, but this is different. Mark’s a prospective client; he represents millions of dollars in potential revenue. Jensen would know how to end it tonight and still keep Mark on their good side. Sure, Jared’s had a nice time, but he wants the evening to be over now. He wants to head back to his hotel and crash. He misses Jensen and Jonah.

They start walking in the direction of Jared’s hotel. Taxis swish past, people brush past. It’s busy, New York is always busy. It’s one of the things Jared likes so much about it. Back before Jensen, before his internship at Providence, New York was always his dream – and Agnes’s too. She wanted him to be a famous artist in New York, for her to come and stay with him in his downtown loft apartment and hang out at all the best night spots, mix with what she called her kind of people. He remembers when he told her he and Jensen and Jonah were moving to New York, that they were finally going to open an office in Manhattan. And okay so he wasn’t going to get that downtown loft apartment they’d always talked about, but a house in Ossining was pretty special and much better for Jonah anyway. She wasn’t happy for him. She told him that he was compromising his dream. Once again, he was letting Jensen get what he wanted, letting Jensen use him and walk all over him. 

He pushes the thoughts away. He can’t think about Agnes now. He hates the way she can creep into his head at the worst possible times. He has to think about ways of giving his excuses, of saying, “I’ve had a great time and you’re a great guy, but...” 

Instead Mark stops, puts a hand on Jared’s jacket sleeve. “So,” he says. He steps in closer. “I know you’re married, but I’ve done my research. Jensen, I’ve heard what people say about him? About the two of you. You have an open marriage, right?” 

A knot in his belly tightens. He knows Jensen’s reputation too fucking well. The Dallas gay scene wasn’t that big and he was always running into Jensen’s one-night stands when they lived there. It galled him back then, though he always pretended like he was okay with it. Those first few years of them “together”, Jensen was always firm that their relationship was open. Jensen wasn’t prepared for monogamy; there were too many things he didn’t want to give up, things like casual sex and Jeff Morgan. Besides, Jensen used to say, Jared was young and hot, it was wrong for him to be tied down at his age, he should go out there and experience everything and everybody. 

Jared glances at Mark. He’s already trying to imagine what the guy would be like in bed. He’s a top, that much is obvious, and Jared’s cool with that, he prefers to bottom anyway. Mark would be intense and focused in bed, maybe overcompensating, maybe even a little bit kinky. He’s got that look. Jared can’t deny that there’s a part of him that’s tempted, despite himself. Deep down in his gut, and much lower than that, in his one-track mind cock, he’s tempted alright. It’s been a long time. And Jensen, well… Jensen was with Jeff Morgan most of last night and Jared’s got zero idea what Jensen’s doing right now, he hasn’t even bothered returning any of his calls. He wouldn’t put it past Morgan to demand Jensen’s company again. 

And who the hell knows what’s even going on in their marriage these days? He loves Jensen more than anyone, but he can’t live without sex. He’s a sexual person, he loves sex, and they always had such amazing sex. He _misses_ sex with Jensen so fucking much. But Jensen… will Jensen ever even get hard again? He’s certainly not doing anything about it. If he were in Jensen’s position, he’d have gone to the doctor ages ago. He would’ve gotten hold of some freaking Viagra or a dick-pump or whatever the hell it took, because he fucking loves sex with Jensen, and obviously the fact that Jensen hasn’t done any of that must mean that he doesn’t value their sex life as much as Jared does. 

Mark’s eyes glitter as he watches him, there’s a slight flush to his cheeks that wasn’t there before. He smells of alcohol and a musky-spicy type of cologne. His hand slides up Jared’s arm, comes to rest on his shoulder. 

“You got to know that I’ve been thinking about this ever since I first saw you,” he says. “You have no idea how sexy you are.” 

Jared flushes with pleasure and embarrassment. It feels nice to be complimented like this, to have someone intelligent and charismatic appreciate him like this. He licks his lips, feels Mark’s gaze fall to his mouth. 

“We had a good time, I had a good time. You’re great company. We should go back to my place,” Mark says. His grip tightens on Jared’s shoulder. Jared swallows, and closes his eyes momentarily, feeling Mark step in even closer. Mark’s shorter than him, just like Jensen. 

He steps back, Mark’s hand falls away. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I, uh. I can’t, I just.” 

He sees Mark’s lips thin and press together, he looks annoyed. Jared waits for him to speak, swallowing nervously. They’re going to lose the account now, and it’ll be all his fault. 

“Sorry,” he repeats. 

Mark grimaces. “No, that’s okay. I get it. You’re married. So, you don’t have an open relationship then, you and Jensen?” 

He represses the urge to grit his teeth at the question. “No, we don’t,” he says. 

However bad things are between him and Jensen, he’s not going to cheat. The realization makes him feel better; his mind suddenly clear, all doubts removed. He’s not going to cheat, even if he’s attracted to Mark, even if Mark’s a potentially valuable client, even if he’s flattered by the interest, even if he’s really damn horny. He’s not going to cheat on Jensen. Not just because he loves Jensen, not just because they have a kid together, but because he just can’t. It’s not the kind of person he is. He made a commitment to Jensen and he still believes in what he said the day they got married, _forsaking all others…_ He meant it back then. He still means it. 

Mark sighs and steps backwards, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Okay. Then I guess we’ll see each other on Wednesday?” 

“I guess so,” Jared says. “Thanks again, for the dinner. I had a really good time.” 

Mark nods; his mouth flattens into a sardonic shape. He turns to go, raising his hand in the air as he walks away, heels ringing out loudly on the sidewalk. 

Jared exhales in relief and turns in the direction of his hotel. 

 

*** 

He calls Jensen as soon as he gets back to his hotel room. Jensen picks up on the second ring. 

“So, I had dinner with Mark Pellegrino,” he says by way of hello. “He – uh – he tried to kiss me. I had to turn him down.” 

There’s a pause and he thinks for a moment that Jensen’s hung up, accidently, or on purpose. 

“Jensen? Are you there?” 

Jensen lets out a breath, it sounds sort of wheezy, and Jared realizes that he’s laughing, the asshole’s actually laughing at him. 

“Dude, this isn’t funny,” he says, but he can feel the tension lifting from his hunched shoulders. Despite the fact he knows he did the right thing (the only thing he could do), he’s worried. He doesn’t want them to lose accounts, and he definitely doesn’t want to be the reason for them losing accounts. He picks up a pillow, tosses it across the room, it hits the opposite wall, just below the Rothko print, and slides to the floor. On the phone, Jensen’s still snickering and it’s fucking annoying. 

He bounds off the bed. “I probably lost us the account,” he snaps. He kicks the pillow, watches it skid into the bathroom, coming to a rest by the bathtub. 

Predictably Jensen sobers up at that. “Oh, you think it was that bad?” 

“I don’t know! He just – he leans in for a kiss with his hand on my shoulder and his breath all in my face, and I kinda back away and say sorry, no, I can’t. I rejected him, Jensen. He’ll probably want to take revenge.” 

“Dude, you are way too dramatic. I blame your mom for that.” 

Jared rolls his eyes. “Of course you do, but—“ 

“Look,” Jensen cuts in, sounding all reasonable and annoying, “if you have lost us the account, then we’ll deal with it, okay? It was never a done-deal; we could’ve gone out of the running at any point. At least if they don’t go for us we’ll know it’s not because our work sucked, but because Mark Pellegrino doesn’t like being turned down – which, pathetic, much?” 

“They still might not like the work,” Jared mutters. 

“Well, yeah, but that’s unlikely. That new shit you sent me yesterday is great, Jare.” 

“Too bad it’s never gonna be used,” he says. But he’s mollified, he’s still never gotten over feeling ridiculously happy when Jensen compliments his work. He still feels like that 20-year-old intern, yearning for the hot boss’s approval. 

“You don’t know that. The guy’s a good businessman; he didn’t get that far by being petty. He’ll see our stuff, see everyone else’s, and he’ll see that we’re the best. And you never know, man, he might see you as an extra enticement. He might not give up just yet on catching you.” 

“Oh God, I hope not,” Jared groans. 

Jensen chuckles again and Jared can’t help smiling to himself at the sound. Jensen doesn’t laugh that often these days. “Where are you, what are you doing?” he says. 

“On the bed, working. But if you think that picture sounds sexy, forget it. I got a six-year-old lying here asleep beside me.” 

Jared’s smile widens. “Yeah? How is he? Was he alright today?” 

“If by alright you mean more demanding than ever, then yeah, he was fine. I was fucking exhausted, but not him.” Jensen blows out a breath, says, “We went to the mall, and the water-park, and then ordered a lot of room service and watched a movie. He only dropped off an hour ago. This is the first chance I’ve had to check my email.” 

“Oh my God!” Jared mock-gasps. “How did you cope?” 

“Shut up,” Jensen says, but there’s no heat in it. And at least he knows now why Jensen hasn’t called him back or returned any of his messages. 

He hears Jensen shuffling about, then his voice gets tinnier, more echoey, and Jared thinks that he’s probably gone into the bathroom. “So, we missed you today,” Jensen says. “You should’ve seen the people at that water-park. The blubbery bodies, ugh, Jay, I kept closing my eyes and imagining you in a tight pair of Speedos just to get through it.” 

Jared rolls his eyes, but he’s pleased. “And you say I’m the drama queen.” 

“Dude, no, seriously! You should’ve seen it. It was like Pillsbury Doughball land, like one of those beaches in South America where all those lardy-assed sea lions go to hang out, the ones that just lie there and squawk and eat and eat, ‘cause they’re too goddamn fat to move around. It was fucking depressing. Not one goddamn DILF in the entire park.” 

“Except you. I bet you were worth looking at.” 

“Except me of course,” Jensen says, and Jared can hear the smile in his voice. 

“So, you’re still planning on flying back tomorrow night?” he asks after a pause. 

“Of course. You going to pick us up?” 

“Of course.” 

“Good,” Jensen sighs. “I’m telling you, man, I’ll be so happy to get on that plane. I forgot how little I miss this place.” He sounds wistful and Jared huffs out a breath, nodding in agreement. He understands what Jensen means; he’s felt the same way every time they’ve gone back to Dallas. It’s still the place where he’s lived the longest, but it’s never felt like home to him. He always felt like the outsider next to the Dallas natives like Jensen or Addie or Chad. Of course, he would never give up the years he spent there; they were some of the best years of his life. Dallas was where he met Jensen after all, where Jonah was born, where he met Chad during their crazy freshman year, where he met Addie and Carmela and Stefan and the rest of their friends. But it’s also the place where they died, where someone was hateful and twisted enough to kill a bunch of people just because of who they like to fuck. He knows it’s irrational but he’s never going to forgive Dallas for that. 

“Are you going to the Memorial tomorrow?” he says after a moment’s silence. 

Jensen sighs heavily down the phone, the breathy sound reverberating through the connection. Jared pictures him in the bathroom, knowing his posture from the tone in his voice: head bowed, fingers in a death grip around his phone. Jensen can’t deal with the Memorial, or those memories. He barely talks about what happened, though Jared knows he thinks about it all the time. He knows Jensen thinks about Addie when he looks at Jonah, thinks about Stefan when he panics about the business. In many ways, Addie and Stefan are just as real now as they were when they were alive, throwing their shadows over everything, and Jensen can’t let them go. He’s not sure Jensen will ever be able to let them go. 

When Jensen speaks, his voice is harsh, his tone all vitriol: “I hate the place, I fucking hate it there.” 

“I know,” he says softly. “I know, baby.” He wants to be there now, to touch Jensen and pull him in close and run his fingers though his hair and down his back. It doesn’t even have to be sexual; he just wants to touch Jensen again. 

Jensen pushes out a breath, a long, drawn-out sound. “I should go. Check on the kid.” 

“Alright,” Jared says. “I’ll see you tomorrow okay? I’ll be the tall guy standing by Arrivals, grinning like an idiot.” 

Jensen laughs, though it’s a little shaky now. “Okay, see you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, see you.” 

He listens to Jensen hang up before he lowers his phone. 

 

**

 

Jensen goes back into the bedroom to check on Jonah when he’s done speaking to Jared. Jonah’s asleep, looking small and vulnerable in the king-size bed. Jensen stands over him for a few beats, listening to him breathing, watching his eyelashes twitch and his chest rise up and down. He’s spent enough time keeping vigil at Jonah’s bedside to know when he’s having a bad dream or one of his episodes, so he knows that everything’s okay for the moment. 

He drags his hand across the back of his neck and through his hair. He feels tense and exhausted and grubby. Come to think of it, he hasn’t had chance to shower since the water park, and the standard of hygiene in that place was worse than a freaking bathhouse. He grimaces and heads back into the bathroom. 

He braces himself against the tile in the power-shower and lets his shoulders and back muscles relax under the hammering pressure of the spray. It feels good, a soporific, warm sensation flowing through his tired body. He drags his fingers lightly over his chest and belly, tracing lazy figures of eight on his skin, fingers skimming just below his belly button but just above his pubic hair. He deliberately ignores his soft cock for the moment, instead he slides his hand down to cup his balls, rolling and fondling them between his fingers, reaching between his thighs to gently stroke his perineum. 

He closes his eyes and lets his mind wonder, his thoughts going automatically to Jared. He thinks about Jared’s long, long legs and powerful thighs, the dark, furry hair on the insides of his thighs, the wiry, short hair on his balls. Jensen’s never been a fan of the waxed look, always liked his guys to look like guys, not like underage pornstars, not that Jared couldn’t give some of those pornstars a run for their money, he’s definitely got the body and the proportions for it. Jensen smirks to himself and gently squeezes his balls, picturing Jared’s big, thick cock. He thinks about how it looks when it’s erect, smeared and shiny with pre-come, fucking huge and gorgeous, to how even just the head can fill Jensen’s mouth and make him feel like he’s choking on it. 

Jensen groans and daringly slides his hand to his half-hard cock. He grips it, feeling it pulse in his hand. Heartened, he lets out a moan and thinks about one of his favorite memories: Jared on that vacation they took years ago in Miami. Jared on the beach in his tight swim trunks, his hair sopping wet and clinging to his face, the besotted, coy look in his eyes as he peered up at Jensen from under long, glistening eyelashes. He thinks about how Jared got sunburn on his nose, how his cheeks were rosy, his legs and arms and chest a delicious even tan. They kissed among the waves like they were in a Chris Isaak video. Droplets of seawater rolled down Jared’s chest when he reached for Jensen, snagging his long fingers in the waistband of Jensen’s trunks. Jared smiled at him and cupped his face in his fucking huge hands and kissed him in front of everybody, as the hot gay boys swam and shouted and tossed beach balls and volleyballs, catcalling at them in Spanish and English. He thinks about how he fucked Jared in the enormous bed in their enormous suite that night, how Jared threw his head back and begged him for it _harder, faster, more, Jensen, need you, need more…_

Jensen gasps, concentrates on the memory, on the sensation of his own cock – right now – thick in his hand. He’s hard, he’s actually fucking hard. God, he wants to cry, he wants to laugh, and he’s so goddamn terrified it’s going to disappear on him again. He closes his eyes again, thinks about his chest plastered to Jared’s back with sweat, his hand on Jared’s cock. His own cock pulses in his fist and he jacks it quickly, panting now, heart throbbing. He thinks of his face buried in Jared’s neck, his cock buried in Jared’s ass. Fuck, Jared was hot back then, still hot now, so fucking hot, and he’s all Jensen’s. He turned down Mark fucking Pellegrino because he’s Jensen’s husband, and Jensen loves him so damn much for that. 

He cries out, quickly stifling the sound against his forearm, biting down, as his cock spurts into his hand. He can feel it in every pore of his body, the awesome yet painful sensation of release. He pants, shakes, opens his eyes. There’s come in his pubes, come circling the drain, his cock twitches feebly, riding out the orgasm. He shudders, straightens up, angling himself so the water pounds against his belly and balls, washing away his release. 

He can still do it, he can still come. It’s such a goddamn relief. It’s been over three weeks since the last time he had an orgasm, and he feels exhausted. But he’s so damn relieved. He wishes suddenly that Jared were here, right here, beside him. Jared’s always giddy after sex, giggly and overly affectionate. It’s annoying but also endearing. He’s picturing the big goofy grin that would be on Jared’s face right now, how he’d be crowding into him and thrusting his tongue into Jensen’s mouth, insisting on the two of them standing here making out instead of cleaning up straight away. 

Jensen smiles to himself. He feels good, tired, but in a good way. He switches off the water, climbs out of the shower. He shrugs on the complimentary robe and goes back into the bedroom. Jonah’s still fast asleep in bed; he hasn’t moved, which is good. Jensen leans over him, gently cards his fingers through his soft hair before pressing a kiss to his warm forehead. He turns to pick up his laptop and carry it over to the desk in the corner. He’s got work to do before he can go to sleep. But he’s feeling better than he has in a while, and he’s looking forward to flying back home tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

[ ](http://sonofabiscuit77.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/450/37124)

  
**CHAPTER THREE**

“So which one’s yours?”

Jensen looks up to watch Jeff Morgan take a seat on the bench beside him. Jeff leans back, stretches his legs out in front of him, crosses his ankles. He’s dressed in casual clothes, a leather jacket, jeans and heavy working boots. He’s holding two cups of Starbucks and he hands one over to Jensen with a quirk of his eyebrows.

“That one,” Jensen answers, indicating with the coffee at the spot where Jonah is clambering up the climbing apparatus, shouting down at some other kid who’s just behind him. He gets to the top and throws himself headfirst down the slide on his front, hands outstretched to brush the dirt when he whooshes to the bottom. He gets up, brushes himself off and runs around to climb back up again.

The park is busy, Sunday morning, a lot of fathers with their kids. Jensen wonders how many of them are weekend dads. If Addie were still alive, then maybe that would be him: taking Jonah out to the park every Sunday morning for their allotted three hours together. Then again, if he’s brutally honest, it’s not like he spends a lot more time with the kid. This trip is probably the longest time he and Jonah have spent hanging out, just the two of them, since they left Dallas. Jared spends way more time with Jonah than he does – yet another thing to be grateful to Jared for.

“Attractive kid,” Jeff says, breaking into his thoughts. Jeff takes a sip on his coffee, gives Jensen a look. “I can see the resemblance.”

Jensen chuffs out a breath, though he’s pleased. He’s always pleased when people compliment Jonah, or when they comment on their resemblance. He takes a sip of his coffee: triple shot Americano, one sugar. Of course Jeff remembers how he likes it.

“You don’t know how lucky you are with a boy,” Jeff says conversationally, “girls – now girls are a nightmare. And teenage girls, oh boy.”

Jensen glances at Jeff. He’s watching the kids playing with an inscrutable look on his face. “How old are your two now?” he says. They didn’t talk about their families the other night. It was all business, well... business and negotiation and that familiar edge of sexual tension to their back and forth that’s always been there between him and Jeff. Family and kids had no place in that.

“Sandy’s thirteen and Erin’s sixteen.”

“Wow,” Jensen says. He can remember Sandy being born, Erin’s first birthday party. It’s so weird to think that he’s known Jeff for that long. Fifteen years, twice as long as he’s known Jared.

“Yup, time really flies, huh?” Jeff slants him a look.

“You’re not kidding. So, they’re, like, dating now?”

“Christ no,” Jeff says.

Jensen chuckles. “Yeah, right. That’s what you think.”

Jeff snorts but doesn’t say anything. Jensen turns his attention back to Jonah. He’s gotten bored of the slide and has moved to the mini zip-liner, barging through the kids congregating around it to get to the front. They watch him launch off, screaming out loud as he flies across the park, clinging on, his thin, denim-clad legs twined around the seat. He throws himself off when he’s done, stumbles and falls into the petey soil. Jensen’s heart skips a beat but Jonah’s entirely unconcerned. He just leaps back to his feet, brushes off the clinging bark-mulch and runs around to join the line for another go.

Jensen glances at Jeff again, watches him take another sip of his coffee. The best thing about him and Jeff was that he always knew exactly where they stood. Jeff was never going to do anything as stupid as leave his wife and daughters for him, and Jensen never expected or even wanted him to. Jeff loved his girls, was fond of his wife and he respected her. More importantly, Jeff was a pragmatist. Melinda was an heiress, she’d brought millions to the marriage, and although Jeff had made plenty since they’d been married, he was way too good a businessman to ever consider divorce. Besides, Jeff knew exactly what a divorce – and a subsequent relationship with a younger guy – would do to his standing in the Dallas social scene and Jeff would never want to jeopardize that.

Jensen occasionally used to wonder what Melinda thought about Jeff’s affairs. He knew he wasn’t the only one. Jeff enjoyed sex and he enjoyed variety, sleeping with both men and women, whenever he could, although it always pleased Jensen to know that he was the most long-lasting of Jeff’s extramarital affairs and, he suspected, the only one Jeff had any real emotional connection with. He’s pretty sure Melinda knew – still knows – about Jeff’s proclivities and about him, but she never made much of an effort to do anything about it. The entire setup just seemed to him back then to be another reason why marriage was an outdated, hypocritical and entirely pointless concept.

It’s a view that he still finds hard to shake now, though he does realize the hypocrisy. But he and Jared got married for a specific reason: for Jonah, to help them win the custody battle against Dorothy and Robert, to prove that they were a serious and responsible family unit. He saw himself as using marriage as a tool back then, as something to battle the straight people with. But despite that, he really did mean the words he said to Jared that day: _‘til death do us part._ He’s always known that Jared is his only chance at a real relationship. If things don’t work with Jared, then that’s it for him, he’s never going to find anyone else who’ll put up with his bullshit. But Jared’s not like him, Jared’s a self-confessed serial monogamist. Jared had loads of boyfriends before him and he was always faithful to them. Jared always wanted them to be monogamous, he never enjoyed any of the open parts of their relationship. If they break up, if Jensen fucks up even more royally than he is currently doing and Jared leaves him, then Jared will find someone else. Not that Jensen’s going to let that happen without a fight. He’s going to cling onto Jared with every selfish, possessive bone in his body.

As if in response to his thoughts, his phone goes off with Jared’s ringtone. He fishes it out of his pocket, presses the button to decline the call and send Jared through to voicemail. He’ll call him later when Jeff isn’t hanging around. Jeff’s watching him with obvious interest though, gaze fixed on him as he takes another sip of his coffee. He lowers his cup, says, “That the little woman?”

Jensen gives him a look. “It was Jared, if that’s what you mean.”

Jeff shrugs, his mouth is curled up into a gentle smirk, his eyes alight. “Just amuses me, the thought of you married and settled, a kid, a husband. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Yeah, well, things change,” he says. People die, he wants to add, my friends died. I almost lost my son, I almost lost Jared. Puts things into perspective.

Jeff flicks him a look, it’s lingering, penetrating, a little unnerving. “You gonna visit the Memorial before you leave? Take the kid?” He jerks his head towards Jonah who’s now on one of the swings, legs pumping as he gets higher and higher.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I know I should, but, well. You know how it is.”

“If you want company, moral support, a manly shoulder to cry on, whatever – then give me a call,” Jeff says. He leans closer, nudges Jensen with his shoulder. Jensen glances up, catches his eye. He looks sympathetic, genuine, about as genuine as Jeff ever gets. He drops a hand to Jensen’s knee and Jensen stills, stares down at it, warm and solid on his thigh. He thinks about how many times he’s been touched by that hand. It should feel familiar to him, and yet, it’s not – not anymore at least. Now it just feels strange and too heavy. Jeff gives his thigh a couple of pats before he removes his hand. Jensen tries not to breathe an audible sigh of relief and looks up again. Jeff’s looking a little sad, an ironic shape to his mouth and in his gaze. “I mean it, sweetheart,” he adds.

Jensen’s heart skips a beat at the old endearment. He swallows, says, “Thanks. And yeah, yeah, I know you do.”

Jeff sighs and gets to his feet. The sun is behind him, catching the grey in his hair. He looks older, and Jensen wonders suddenly just how old he must look to Jeff. He was 21 when they first met, when Jeff agreed to be interviewed for Jensen’s undergraduate thesis. He ended that interview on his knees, sucking Jeff’s cock. He was so young back then and he looked it and Jeff loved that about him. It’s weird to think that Jared was practically that age when they met, that there was a similar power differential between him and Jared as there was between him and Jeff. The age gap had seemed like a big deal back then when Jared was the 20-year-old intern and he was the 28-year-old boss. It still feels significant now that he’s 35 ( _Jesus, 35_ ), and Jared’s still only 27.

He wonders suddenly what Jeff would say if he told him about his current predicament. The fact that even if he weren’t married and had no intention of cheating on his husband, he wouldn’t be physically capable anyway. Knowing Jeff, he would probably think it was hilarious.

“Jensen, I’ve been thinking it through, and I think I’m just going to move the rail division. The rest of it is yours. Still yours,” Jeff says, meeting and keeping his gaze.

Jensen does a quick calculation in his head. The rail stuff is probably only around 20 percent of the Morgan Industries work they currently bill for. It still means they’re going to have to make some changes, and with the other accounts that have jumped ship in the last three quarters, they will definitely need to cut back more than they’re already doing. All those account managers who aren’t hitting target are going out the door for a start. But if Jeff’s being serious with this, then that means the office will survive. They’ll need to change things for sure, but still. They’ll be okay.

Jensen swallows and nods, when he speaks his voice is a little hoarse, “Thanks.”

Jeff’s mouth quirks and he nods. “You’re welcome. As you said the other night, you’ve been good for us. And really, you should see the guys at Grey and Mason, not one of them can hold a candle to you. Nowhere near as pretty.”

Jensen laughs, rolls his eyes. “Asshole.”

Jeff grins, a full-wattage special. “Be seeing you, sweetheart.”

Jensen watches him walk away, watches him toss the empty coffee cup in the trash as he makes his way out the park. Jensen lets out a long exhale of breath and finishes his own (now cold) coffee. He takes out his phone to call Jared and give him the good news.

 

**

He leaves Jonah with Dorothy and Robert for a few hours after the park. Jonah scrunches up his face and looks like he’s about to complain, but Dorothy interrupts with promises of lunch at Chuck E Cheese, and Jonah shuts up, grinning happily and barely remembering to wave goodbye when Jensen gets back into his rental.

He drives to his old loft apartment first. He pulls up on the opposite side of the street and stares out the window at it. This was the place where Jonah was conceived, or at least the place where he jerked off into a paper cup, handed it over to Carmela and Addie, along with the turkey baster, and got the hell out of there while they did whatever it was they did to create his son.

This was the first place he owned that was all his, the first place where he lived on his own. He can still remember the day the realtor showed him and Stefan and Addie around, how Stef wrinkled his nose and pointed out the many deficiencies, the exposed wires and damp, insisting Jensen was crazy to buy somewhere in this neighborhood now matter how cheap it was. In contrast, Addie was vibrating with excitement, gushing about the potential, the awesome size of the place, how this was an up and coming neighborhood and Stef knew nothing. Addie was an architectural graduate, training to be an interior decorator at the time. After he bought the place, Jensen gave her a wad of cash and told her to go to town. He smiles at the memory, and starts the engine again, turning the car in the direction of the Memorial Building.

The Memorial Building looks quiet when he pulls up outside. It opened only four months after the bombing, six months before they got the hell out of Dallas and moved east to set up the New York office. Even when they were still living in Dallas, Jensen avoided the place as much as he could. Jared used to come here for prayer meetings and group counseling sessions, but he never went. He understands why Jared used to go, he lost people too after all; his best friend, Chad, whose death still makes Jared feel guilty, despite all that counseling and praying.

Thinking of Chad still makes Jensen want to laugh – in that way you do when the situation is so fucking ridiculous you can’t do anything else. Chad wasn’t at the Center that night because he was supporting Jared or giving his all for the big gay cause or anything like that, Chad was there because he was chasing after Addie. Jensen can still remember the shit he used to give Chad for his hopeless crush on the hot married lesbian. But then, his relationship with Chad was always shaky; they never liked each other much, him and Chad. More accurately, Chad never liked him, while Jensen had a grudging respect for the guy. Chad was pretty assholish, but he looked out for Jared. That last breakup, the really fucking brutal one just before the bombing, Chad was there for Jared, and Jensen was relieved to know that Jared had someone on his side. Not that most of Jensen’s friends weren’t also on Jared’s side by that point.

He’s tried to drum it into Jared’s head that Chad was at the Center that night because he wanted in Addie’s pants, not because he was giving Jared moral support, or doing it for their friendship. Chad’s cause was usually related to his dick, he was a man after Jensen’s own heart that way. But Jared’s never listened to Jensen, always insisted that it was his fault, saying, “Yeah, but he only met Addie because of me. I was the one who introduced them, so he was still there because of me.”

As for Jensen, all his friends knew better than to try to involve him in any of their causes. None of them even tried to get him to attend that night.

Jensen swallows, sets his shoulders and walks through the doors. With its grey stone and hushed ponderous silence, the building has always reminded him of a church, which is probably the point. The crowd of squat white candles arrayed across the table on one side of the wall, some of them lit in memory of the dead, just lends even more to the fake, holy atmosphere.

The place symbolizes everything he hates about the American culture of sentimentality and self-indulgence in mourning. Everyone feels entitled to a piece of these people’s lives, especially all of gay America, because this is what this place is: a pilgrimage site for gay America. The Dallas Memorial Center regularly appears on the list of Top 10 Tourist Spots for LGBT Folk, or whatever the fuck those lists are called. It’s a place where their fellow lesbians and gays can go to cry and mourn for people they never met, somewhere where they can give into that mawkish, self-pitying streak that Jensen loathes about every torch song he’s ever heard. He might be an expert on playing on people’s heart-strings and getting at that deep yearning for nostalgia or envy or emptiness or whatever it is that drives society’s endless consumerism, but Jensen doesn’t do sentimental and he doesn’t do self-pity, and he hates that the people he loves have been co-opted into this.

There are a couple of guys standing over the candles in the corner, another guy and woman standing in front of the Memorial Wall, talking together in hushed tones, like they really are in church. One of the guys turns to look at him as Jensen walks over. He’s got tears in his eyes and when he locks eyes with Jensen he looks defiant, like he’s daring Jensen to say something about his show of emotion. Jensen resists the urge to roll his eyes; instead he heads for the Memorial Wall.

The Wall takes up one entire side of the main room, a plaque announcing that it’s _“dedicated to the memories of our never forgotten twenty five brothers and sisters, killed on this site on February, 24th, 2009.”_ Framed photographs of the victims are arranged alphabetically, the vivid color of their faces a deliberate contrast to the grey stone behind, names and dates under the smiling faces in fancy copperplate. Jensen runs his eyes over them, flinching as he reaches and passes _Chad Michael Murray 1983-2009_ and giving himself a moment before he stops in front of _Stefan Tobias Greenway 1976-2009_.

The picture is from Stef’s high school yearbook, taken only months before Jensen first met him, when Stef still had those appalling bangs and God, the frosted tips, he’d forgotten about the frosted tips. Stef shaved his hair off months later, which was Ewan McGregor’s fault for looking so freaking hot in _Trainspotting_. Stef didn’t look like Ewan McGregor though, he looked like a cancer victim, which Jensen delighted in telling him at the time. It took months for Stef’s hair to grow back. But here he is, commemorated forever with those fucking atrocious bangs and frosted tips, back in the days when he hadn’t yet earned enough money to get his teeth fixed. Stef would be devastated if he knew how many people had seen this picture, people who now all thought of Stefan Greenway, victim of the Dallas Gay  & Lesbian Center bombing, as the twinky looking dude with curtain bangs, frosted tips and crooked teeth. Maybe his parents really did hate him, as he used to dramatically proclaim, considering they chose that picture to immortalize their son forever.

At least Robert and Dorothy had been kinder to Addie. Jensen pauses in front of the two pictures of Addie and Carmela. They’re placed together, as their families had requested: _Carmela Rizzi 1975-2009_ and _Adrianne Louise Palicki, 1977-2009._ Both pictures are from their wedding. In hers, Addie’s looking away from the camera at something else, something out of focus. There’s a small, private smile on her face, and her eyelashes are half lowered. She looks so beautiful it makes his chest hurt, the way her wide, generous mouth curls, the freckles on her cheeks, her shining blue-green eyes. She looks a lot like Jonah.

He swallows down the lump in his throat and gets out of there.

 

**  
The first time Jensen noticed Jared was at Stefan’s weekly creative department meeting. He never took much notice of the interns usually, unless they were hot and obviously gay, and then that was a different matter. Jensen’s main concern was the clients: account development, relationship management, selling and pitching and giving lots of verbal handjobs – that was his thing. Stef was in charge of art and creative and all that pesky HR shit that drove Jensen crazy. It’s one of the many things he misses about not having Stef around anymore, and probably one of the reasons why the company’s in the kinda shit it’s in now.

Jensen’s first impression of Jared was _hot_ , his second impression, _whoa, tall_ , his third impression, _hmm, not just a pretty face, this kid has talent_. The work Jared presented to the rest of the creative team was good: coupons he’d designed for the Turner Hosiery account, just some illustrations to go in women’s magazines, but they were good with just the right sort of appeal for the target market. Jensen ended up staying for the entire meeting, which was unusual for him; he never attended internal meetings unless he absolutely had to. He can remember the look Stef gave him afterwards, the murderous, _don’t you fucking dare,_ gleam in his eyes as Jensen watched Jared’s ass when he left the room. Jensen just smirked at Stef and later that day he cancelled his 12 o’clock and joined the rest of the creative department at their Friday lunchtime basketball game in the parking lot.

He can remember how Jared watched him during the game and how he was aware of it the whole time. He tried a little harder, hustled a little more, playing with more edge than usual. He can remember facing Jared down, remember snatching the ball from the kid’s hands, remember how Jared retaliated and intercepted a pass. He was impressed, pleased that Jared wasn’t too chicken-shit to take on the boss. Afterwards, he shook Jared’s hand, holding on for just a little too long, while he complimented him on a good game. Jared flushed with pleasure and grinned at him, the dimples popping in his cheeks, and Jensen can still recall the physical effect of that smile on him, the way his fingers tingled when he finally dropped Jared’s hand and the way his dick swelled in his sweatpants. He watched Jared walk away, naked torso gleaming with sweat, shirt tucked into the back of his shorts, and he felt an overwhelming urge to get down on his knees and lick the backs of Jared’s long, muscled calves.

He ran into Jared about 30 minutes later outside the washrooms. Jared was waiting his turn for the shower, still in his basketball shorts and hi-tops, t-shirt slung around his neck, hair damp with sweat and all which ways. He stuttered out an apology on seeing Jensen, stammering something about how there was a line and the guys said there was an order and he was new, so he had to shower last, which was gross because who knew how many of them had gone before him and what they’d been doing in there. Jensen took pity on him. Already groomed and showered himself, he held out the key to the executive bathroom, saying, “Consider yourself upgraded. And don’t tell anyone I let you use it.”

Jared took the key from him, giving Jensen another glimpse of that dazzling grin before he hurried away. He stopped by Jensen’s office about ten minutes later, his hair flattened to his scalp and shirt sticking to his chest where he hadn’t dried off properly. He knocked on the door of Jensen’s office and came in, all apologies, holding out the key. Jensen looked up from his computer, and he can still remember the feeling of want that overwhelmed him, of pure lust and heady arousal. He stretched out his hand over the desk and caught hold of Jared’s wrist. The key fell from Jared’s fingers onto a pile of spreadsheets. He could feel the throb of Jared’s pulse under his fingertips and he watched Jared swallow, watched him slowly raise his eyes from the place where Jensen was touching him, to Jensen’s face. He licked his lips nervously, and Jensen traced the path of that velvety pink tongue.

“So, what are you doing later, after work? Do you have any plans?” Jensen asked.

Jared shook his head vigorously. “No, no plans.”

“Okay.” Jensen smiled at him, his most winning, most predatory smile. “Then, I think we should get a drink together. Would you like that?”

Jared nodded and then he was smiling again, the dimples back as the smile broadened. “Yeah, yeah. I’d really like to. I mean, yes that sounds good.”

They did go for a drink, two drinks in fact, before Jensen invited Jared back to his place for a third. Jared didn’t hesitate, just gazed at him over the rim of his glass and nodded. Jensen can still remember the feeling of anticipation curling in his gut as he drove them back to his loft. He’d done this so many times before, picked up so many guys and taken them back to his place. It didn’t feel any different with Jared than all those other times, but he can remember how much he wanted Jared, how his gaze kept flicking to Jared’s long, long legs, to his tousled hair and the glimmer of sweat on his upper lip.

Jared was still wearing his work shirt and he looked like an overgrown kid in it, the sleeves too short, exposing long bony wrists. Jensen wanted to lick over his wrists, bite down on the meat of his palm and taste the sweaty, salty skin under his leather watch strap. He watched Jared’s hands when the car stopped at a red light, seeing them tap out a restless beat on his long, muscled thighs. Jensen had never been with a guy with hands that big before, and he couldn’t wait to feel them against his skin.

He didn’t even bother offering Jared a drink when they got to his place. He slung off his jacket, unknotted his tie, and kicked off his shoes and socks, making himself comfortable. Jared was gazing around him with a look that was something like awe. He blinked when he saw Jensen approach, looking a little like a deer in the headlights, but he stood his ground. Jensen stopped directly in front of him, curled his hand around Jared’s neck, and pulled him down into a kiss.

Jared sunk into it, his own hands sliding up to cup Jensen’s face, kissing him back with a ferocity that took Jensen by surprise and made him clutch at Jared harder. He twisted his fingers in Jared’s shirt, tugging it out of his pants, suddenly desperate to get at his bare skin. The shirt-tails flapped free and Jensen pushed his hand underneath the thin cotton to sweep over the small of Jared’s back, feeling him tremble and arch into Jensen as Jensen’s hand crawled up his back. Jared’s skin was smooth and hot, his spine knobby under Jensen’s fingers. He pulled out of the kiss and ducked his head, breath coming hot and fast against Jensen’s cheek.

“Hey, you okay?”Jensen whispered into the side of Jared’s mouth.

“Yeah, I. Yeah.”

“You want to carry on?”

“God, yes,” Jared breathed.

Jensen chuckled and tilted his head back, meeting Jared’s heavy-lidded gaze. “Good, ‘cause I’m not stopping now.”

He tangled their fingers together and tugged Jared towards the spiral stairs which led up to the balcony bedroom suite. Once upstairs, he stood by the bed and watched Jared wander towards the balcony, peering over it, down at the rest of the loft below: the couches and TV, the huge corner kitchen, the corner office, the glass dining table where he never actually entertained anyone.

“God, this place is amazing,” Jared said, turning around.

Jensen smirked and pulled his shirt out of his dress pants. He could feel Jared’s eyes on him, gaze rolling down his chest as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He unfastened his cufflinks carefully, placed them on the nightstand, and shrugged the shirt off his shoulders until he was just in his undershirt. He pulled that off over his head and tossed it to the floor in one smooth motion, leaving him half-naked. Jared was still staring at him, his eyes dark and face flushed.

“Jesus, you’re like. I knew you were hot before, at work. But you’re, like, crazy hot,” Jared said at last.

Jensen forced back the urge to laugh. “So people tell me.”

“Right, yeah, course.” Jared bit his lip and dragged his hand through his hair. “I’m not normally this much of an incoherent dork, but. You’re really attractive, and you’re the boss, and I don’t want to. I mean, I like working at Providence and I don’t want to screw things up, but I _really_ don’t want to go home right now.”

Jensen chuckled. “Hey, relax. This is my call. I’m not going to fire you or give you a shitty grade or do anything to fuck up your career, okay? This is,” he waved a hand between them, “this is just us. Pretend you met me in a club. Pretend you don’t know I’m the boss. Can you do that?”

Slowly Jared nodded, eyes locked on Jensen’s face. “Yes, yeah. I can do that.”

“Good boy.” Jensen flicked open his fly and let his pants slide down his legs to pool around his feet. He stepped out of them, leaving him in just in his boxer briefs. “Now get your ass over here.”

They fell to the bed, Jensen stripping Jared of his cheap cotton shirt and badly-fitting suit, layering kisses over every new strip of skin as it was exposed. Jared shuddered and clutched at him, ground his leaking cock against Jensen’s hip and begged for it. He begged so damn well that Jensen was really fucking close by the time he rolled the condom on and plunged his cock into Jared’s perfect ass.

He fucked Jared twice that night, once wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy them, and he found himself pushing inside Jared again, needing to feel him, to watch him fall apart again. The next morning, it was just the same: the two of them in the shower together, his mouth on Jared’s neck, his hand on Jared’s cock. Jared was no virgin, that was for damn sure. He knew what he was doing with those long, long limbs and huge clever hands. And he was so responsive, surrendering himself completely to Jensen in a way that was intoxicating. And Jensen couldn’t get enough of him.

It was only three days later that Jared came home with him again. It was a Tuesday night this time, and this time not at the office. They were at Guy’s Bar, him and Stefan and some of the old crowd, just hanging out, moaning about the lack of hot bodies, about all the freaking college kids that had started to invade their favorite bar.

Jensen went to the bathroom at one point, taking the opportunity to properly cruise the crowd. He froze when he spotted the familiar profile: Jared. Jared hanging out with a group of college kids, playing pool, Jared wearing a paint-spattered t-shirt, frayed jeans and flip-flops, Jared with his hair wild and falling in his eyes, Jared completely at ease, laughing and joking with his friends and just – having a good time. Jensen stopped to watch, caught by the tantalizing curve of Jared’s spine as he leaned over the table to take his shot, by the uninhibited, enthusiastic way he threw his hands up in the air to cheer when he potted the ball, exposing a strip of skin at his waist and the waistband of his boxer briefs.

He can remember the jolt of want to his gut when Jared looked over and saw him watching, when their gazes collided and locked. He can remember the way the heat flooded into Jared’s already pink cheeks, the way his eyes darkened and he licked his lips involuntarily. Jensen smirked and turned back towards the men’s room, and he knew without looking back that Jared was following him.

They crowded into a stall, Jensen pushing Jared up against the wall and fisting a handful of his shirt. Jared thrust his hips into Jensen’s, grabbed his face in his big hands and mashed their mouths together. It was heated and desperate and they left together five minutes later with sticky gross jeans.

After that, Jared was staying at his place, two… three… sometimes even four nights a week. After that, there were late nights in the office where Jared sunk to his knees under Jensen’s desk and sucked him off, times when they tested the integrity of the tables in every conference room. After that Jared was getting to know Addie and Stef and the rest of the guys, tagging along when they went out and turning up at Jensen’s place without prior arrangement. Of course, there were also nights when Jensen kicked him out, when he told him he had other plans. He was still involved with Jeff Morgan after all, and there were other guys, other hookups, and he really wasn’t ready to get all exclusive with some freaking college kid, no matter how hot he was or how awesome the sex was.

But despite Jensen’s best intentions, Jared’s paint-spattered hoodies and ancient jeans and cheap-ass suits kept getting mixed up with Jensen’s Gucci and Armani. Jared had his own toothbrush in Jensen’s bathroom cabinet, sitting alongside his own stick of deodorant and razor (not that the kid needed to shave that often). They had their own particular brand of lube and condoms which Jensen never used with anyone else.

Jensen’s had a lot of sex with a lot of people, but he’s willing to admit that Jared’s the only person he’s never managed to get over. Every time they broke up and Jared walked away from him, fed up with Jensen’s bullshit and not getting the real relationship he always wanted, Jensen always ended up going after him, talking him back into his life and into his bed. In retrospect, it was probably unfair of him, he hadn’t been prepared to compromise or give into Jared’s demands for them to be exclusive, but he was even less prepared to let Jared go for good.

He can remember Stef sighing and shaking his head at him, saying, “Why him, man? Sure, he’s easy on the eye, but you could have anyone, so why him? He’s just a kid, what’s the big friggin’ deal about him?” And Jensen would shrug and feel uncomfortable and never find the words to explain to Stef just what it was Jared did to him, how he made him feel when they were together. But there’s something so damn endearing about Jared, something more than the perfect body or big smile or dorky sense of humor. Something that cuts right through all the armor Jensen’s spent his entire life building up and just gets to him and gets _at_ him. So even after they broke up the first… second… third… fourth time, all of Jared’s crap just seemed to stay in Jensen’s apartment, as if they both always knew it was inevitable.

 

***

After Jensen collects Jonah from his grandparents’ place, there’s one more stop they have to make before they can set off for the airport. Jensen drives the short, familiar route from Dorothy and Robert’s house to his own childhood home, feeling painfully nostalgic. He pulls the rental car up outside the house and sits there for a few seconds, staring out at the place where he grew up.

He remembers the first time he brought Jared here, which was Addie’s fault for blabbing to his sister, Diana, about the cute intern Jensen was totally in love with and kept taking home with him. Naturally, Diana wasn’t able to let that one go. So Jensen brought Jared here one Sunday afternoon about nine months after they’d met. Of course, Diana fell totally in love with him and fussed over him while Jared laughed at all her lame jokes and embarrassing stories about Jensen’s childhood.

“I never thought it would be so – normal,” Jared said afterwards, which made Jensen laugh. But it was strange to think that while his own childhood was relatively mundane (save for his mom running off with the piano tuner when he was eight), Jared’s childhood was anything but: moving from city to city, state to state, even country to country, tagging along after Agnes as she chased her fading dreams of stardom and success. It’s probably why Jared’s always wanted the marriage and kids thing so much, craving that family stability he missed out on when he was a kid.

“Dad! Can I get out?”

Jonah’s voice jolts him from his thoughts and Jensen looks over to see him snapping off his seatbelt and reaching for the door handle. His teenage nephews, Dan and Shane, are shooting hoops in the front yard, and he watches them stop their game when they notice the car. Dan picks up the ball, tucks it under his arm as they wander over to say hello.

“Hi, Uncle Jensen! Hey, short-stuff!” they call out to Jonah who jumps out of the car and bounds over towards them. They’re both tall, Dan looking like he’s topping six feet, taller than Jensen now. He bends over to ruffle Jonah’s hair and show him some confusing handshake, which Jonah watches avidly, brow furrowed in concentration. Dan’s got to be 18 or 19 now, he graduated high school the year before and Jensen remembers Diana saying something about him attending catering college, training to be a chef. Shane’s a couple of years younger, in his junior year at the same high school Jensen attended. Christ, it makes him feel old, he can remember them being born, remember babysitting them with Addie, remember studying for his SATs wearing headphones, trying to block out the noise of one of the damn babies crying.

He shades his eyes and sees his sister’s shadow take form through the screen door of the house. She thrusts it open, and stands there, arms folded, a smile on her face.

“There’s my boy,” she says.

He rolls his eyes but he’s smiling when he steps onto the porch and pulls her into a hug. She pats his back a couple of times, smoothes her hands over his shirt.

“So what’s this? Cashmere? Silk?” she says.

“Like you would know,” he scoffs.

She throws her head back and laughs, full and throaty, her eyes glinting at him as she says, “Meow. My little brother, still such a bitch.” He tugs on his arm, pulling him inside, turning to yell over her shoulder, “Boys! Don’t stay out for too long!” Jensen glances at Jonah, sees the kid’s already got Shane tossing the ball to him, Dan standing back and twiddling with his phone. “C’mon, he’ll be fine,” Diana says. “You and me need to talk.”

He lets her pull him inside, to the kitchen with its whirring loud refrigerator and even louder AC unit. He takes a seat at the same kitchen table he sat at when he was growing up. There are new tiles around the stove, but apart from that, nothing is changed, same linoleum, same color paint on the walls, same ancient clanking refrigerator and equally ancient stove.

Diana yanks the door of the refrigerator open and takes out an enormous pitcher of ice tea. She pours a glass and sets it down in front of him before taking the seat opposite him.

“Talk to me. How are things?” she asks.

He blows out a breath. “Things are… okay.” He doesn’t bother lying. He’s never been able to lie to his big sister, not when he was eight years old and trying to hide his nighttime accidents, not when he was thirty two and miserable because Jared had left him that last horrible time and he didn’t know what to do with his life without him. She was the one who told him to go after Jared, to swallow his stupid pride and his stupid ideas about what gay men are supposed to want out of life, and just go for what he _really_ wanted.

“Okay, huh?” She raises her eyebrows at him. “I guess that’s better than nothing.”

“Well, I guess it could be worse.” He makes a face at her and she laughs and leans over the table to brush her fingers over his wrist. “Oh, baby,” she says. “Tell me what’s really bothering you. And I’m not just talking about what’s going on with the business, because I know you, and I know there’s something else.”

He rolls his eyes self-deprecatingly, feeling vaguely ridiculous. Of all the people he knows, Diana is probably the one person he _can_ talk to about this. For a starter, she’s been a nurse for 25 years, she’s seen about every embarrassing ailment it’s possible to see. Then there’s also the fact that Diana is probably the most accepting, most tolerant and most easy-going person he’s ever known – which, considering all the crap she’s been through, is pretty fucking amazing. And finally, there’s the part where Diana loves him and challenges him and pushes him and is the only person who doesn’t let him get away with anything.

“I’ve been having some problems. With, uh, sexual performance,” he says at last, staring down into his ice tea. He watches the ice chunks float and crash against the sides of the glass, the segment of lemon bob up and down. “And it’s not Jared’s fault. It’s me. It’s all me.”

“How long’s it been going on?” she asks. She sounds completely unfazed, and it’s such a fucking relief to hear the matter-of-factness in her voice that he finally feels capable of raising his head and looking at her. She’s not looking sympathetic, thank God, she’s just looking mildly interested. Hell, she’s looking _professional._

He clears his throat, says, “About three months.”

“Have you seen anyone about this? Spoken to anyone?”

“No, not exactly,” he admits. “I’ve read stuff online. I read that it can be something physical. So I went for an exam. I was due for my annual check-up anyway, you know, for the insurance. But I got a clean bill, pretty much. My blood pressure’s a little high – which wasn’t that surprising.”

“No, it’s not,” she says, giving him a look.

He smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, well, they said it’s pretty normal for someone my age with a stressful job and coffee and booze and… Quit looking at me like that, I’m cutting down. I promise.”

“Glad to hear it,” she says approvingly.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, whatever. But anyway, the point is I don’t have diabetes or a heart condition or any of those things that can be a cause of – of it. And I’m not on any medication or anything like that. So…” he breaks off, sighs. “I know it’s all up here.” He taps the side of his head with his finger. “If you say anything about how damn normal this is, or how many guys will suffer from this in their lifetimes then I’ll. Well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but hey, fratricide, that covers annoying older sisters who give crappy advice, right?”

She snorts at him and shakes her head. The unimpressed look on her face is uncannily like his own – it’s weird, though also, weirdly comforting. “You brought this up. Now, tell me. Does this only happen when it’s you and Jared together, or do you experience the same problem when you’re on your own?”

He resists the urge to groan and hide his head in his hands and never look up again. Seriously, what the hell was he thinking when he decided to discuss this with Diana of all people? Sure, she’s a nurse, and sure, they do have history with these kinds of embarrassing discussions, she has the double distinction of being the person who gave him The Talk and being the first person he came out to. Without her, he’s not even sure he would ever have survived his adolescence.

“It depends,” he says at last.

“So you can still masturbate?” she says.

“Yes, Di, I can still masturbate.”

“Then you probably also know that that means it’s likely to be a psychological problem?”

“Yup, I pretty much figured that out. Like I told you. Not that it helps much.”

“Sure it does!” She leans forward over the table, drops her hands onto his again. “Listen, there are tons of reasons men experience this problem, and some of them are things we don’t even want to consider. Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s, diabetes. Jensen, it could be a lot worse. You just need to talk to someone. Hell, you should’ve done that years ago, after everything that happened. Plus, have you never heard of Viagra?”

“Of course I’ve heard of it!” he says exasperatedly. “I’ve tried it too. Years ago. There was all this bullshit going around about how it makes sex better and how it makes your dick look bigger – which was all total crap, of course. Didn’t seem to make much of a difference to me.”

“Well, no, of course it wouldn’t. Not when everything’s functioning properly. It’s not supposed to make your dick look bigger, honey, it’s supposed to help you maintain an erection.” She sits back in her chair and sighs. “Promise me you’ll go see a doctor. Soon as you get home. Ask them for a referral to a therapist and ask them for a prescription for a PDE5 inhibitor. That’s the fancy medical term for what Viagra is. And don’t feel embarrassed, they prescribe it all the damn time.”

He meets her eyes, sees her mouth curl up into one of her characteristic sideways smiles. “Okay,” he says, feeling his own mouth start to curl upwards too. “Okay, if you say so.”

“Good boy,” she says and pats his hand. She gets up from the table. “Now, I’m gonna call them all in. They shouldn’t be out so long in this heat.”

 

**

He wanders around downstairs while Jonah goes through an enormous pile of Dan and Shane’s old toys that Diana’s hauled down from the attic.

“You do realize we’re flying back!” he calls up the stairs to where she’s presenting toys to Jonah who excitedly nods yes to every one and tosses them into a growing pile. “I’m not paying for extra luggage space!”

“Quit being such a buzzkill!” she calls back, and he hears Jonah snicker.

He rolls his eyes and strolls into the living room. Just like the kitchen, it hasn’t changed much. Still the same wallpaper, same carpet, same soft furnishings. Diana’s not the kind of woman who’s overly house-proud; she doesn’t make enough money or have enough time for it, and what she does make goes towards feeding and clothing the two boys, keeping her car on the road and paying the mortgage and other bills. She’s always refused to take any money from him, saying that what he pays for their father’s care at the hospice is enough.

There’s a baby grand piano in the corner of the living room, one that belonged to their mom before she walked out on them when he was eight years old. It probably hasn’t been played since she left. Certainly, he and Di never learned to play, and Dan and Shane don’t either. It’s more of a dust collector, an interesting kooky shelf for all of Diana’s many photographs. There are ones of them as kids, not that many of them both together as kids given the 12 year age gap, but there’s teenage Di and toddler Jensen amongst them, Boy Scout Jensen and trainee nurse Diana. There’s his senior prom portrait: him and Addie in their formalwear, his baseball team photo and high school yearbook photo. There are photos of him and Stefan from their college days, him and Addie and new-born baby Jonah, him and Jared on their wedding day, though Diana’s own wedding picture is glaringly absent. There are lots of pictures of the kids, of Jonah and Dan and Shane over the years. There are pictures of their father and both sets of grandparents. There are no pictures of their mom.

He picks up the picture of Addie and him at Senior Prom. He brushes his thumb over Addie’s face. A sound startles him and he jerks his head up to see Diana enter the room. She comes up to him and puts her hand on his arm, looking down at the picture in his hands.

“She really was beautiful,” she says. “I remember the first time you brought her round here, the two of you were working on a project together?”

“Journalism. We were supposed to write a local-interest story. I wanted to do one about a couple who had a murder suicide pact that went wrong. The guy died but the woman ended up looking like a ghoul with a horrific head injury and tons of plastic surgery. Addie was against it, she said it was too morbid.”

“She was right.” She gives him a fond look. “God, you were such a strange child. I did worry about you. Addie was so good for you – she came along at just the right time, got you out of that teenage funk.” She takes the photo from him and puts it back carefully onto the piano. “You know she’s not really gone, honey. She’s still here. In Jonah, and in our memories, even in photographs. That’s what happens. People die, but parts of them live on.”

“Right, yeah, the circle of life,” he says bitterly.

“You know, you really are far too cynical. There’s no reason for it.”

“Right,” he says under his breath.

She puts her hand on his arm again, tugs him around. “Yeah, _right_. Listen to me, you have a job you love, even when it drives you mad, your own company, something _you_ created. You have a gorgeous little boy, a fantastic and unfairly attractive husband who for some reason thinks you hung the moon. So, you’ve lost some people, so has everybody.”

“They’re not just _some people_ ,” he grits out.

Her expression softens; she strokes her hand down his arm. “I know. I know, baby. But at some point, you’re going to have to start thinking about what you _do_ have and not about what you’ve lost. You have to let them go. Think about your future, about Jared and Jonah and what’s good for them. I thought that was what you wanted when you moved east. It’s why I didn’t object to losing you. Much,” she amends, with a curl to her lip.

He closes his eyes, breathes in and out for a couple of seconds. He wants to be mad at her, can feel the irritation niggling under his skin, the urge to shake her and tell her that she doesn’t fucking know, she has no fucking idea. She doesn’t know what happened that night; she doesn’t know how long they were trapped before they died. She doesn’t know how long they were suffering, how fucking terrified they must have been in the dark, choking on smoke and dust, crushed by the weight of all that concrete and stone and glass, knowing they were going to die.

He and Jared weren’t there. They should’ve been there, but they weren’t. And Jared would’ve been there if Jensen hadn’t had his big fat gay revelation earlier that evening, the punch in the gut that was: _I’m miserable, I miss him, I don’t want to live without him, I want him back._ The one fucking time in his life he went out and laid everything on the line, that night when he turned up at Jared’s doorstep and did what his big sister told him to do, telling Jared the big fat truth: _I love you, I can’t live without you. I’m sorry, please, take me back. Please tell me you love me._

And Jared was supposed to be at the Center with the others, he should’ve been there, but he wasn’t, because Jared stepped back to let him inside, the door thudding closed behind Jensen as he crowded up into Jared’s body, reaching to cup his face, his perfect fucking face, and they kissed right there, right on the freaking doormat. Jared led him up the stairs to his tiny studio apartment, every inch of space covered in paint supplies and half-finished canvasses, one skinny single bed in the corner that was too small for Jared, never mind both of them, so they lay out on top of paint-spattered dust sheets and made love. Jared whispered in his ear: _say it again, please, say it again, Jensen, tell me again..._ and so he had, again and again, saying the words he’d always been too chicken shit to tell him: _I love you, I can’t live without you, please, Jared, I’m miserable without you, I love you...._

They ignored everything, their phones switched off and forgotten, just the two of them, no outside world, just him and Jared fucking on the floor of a dirty studio apartment. And then after the second time, Jared got up to fetch beer and Jensen turned on the black and white portable TV, and the world fell apart.

He feels Diana draw away from him, saying, “I’ll see if I’ve got a suitcase for all those toys you’re taking back with you.”

“Okay,” he mumbles. He’s not looking at her, eyes fixed on the photo of Addie and him at Prom. He can remember how he held her close and she laid her head on his shoulder when they danced to Smashing Pumpkins’ _Landslide_. He can remember thinking about how much he loved her and how beautiful she was and how good they looked together and what a shame it was that the thought of going down on her made him want to barf.

“Are you going to stop by and see Dad on your way out of town?” Diana asks.

He whips his head around and the memories fall away. He swallows over the lie: “No. We won’t have time if we want to catch our flight.”

She gives him her disappointed look. “I’ll pass on your love to him next time I see him then?”

 _Don’t bother_ , he wants to say, but he nods at her instead. “Okay. Yeah. Do that.”

 

**

Jensen leans back in his airplane seat, plastic tumbler of whiskey on the drinks tray in front of him. Beside him, Jonah has his head bent over Jensen’s tablet, watching _The Lion King_ and wearing Jensen’s expensive Bose headphones, which are so big on him they look like they’re swallowing his head.

Jensen peers over his shoulder and watches the movie for a few seconds. The circle of freaking life, he thinks, except, that kinda crap might work for a load of animals but real life isn’t like that. He lost his best friends and Jonah lost his mom and they’re never going to see them again. They died in one of the most horrible ways there is to die because some fucked-up, evil sonofabitch hated gay people. She’s never going to see her son grow up, and Jonah’s never going to know his mom, and Jensen will never see her again or talk to her again. Never. Because he might’ve been raised nominally Baptist, but he doesn’t believe in the afterlife or heaven. When you die, you die and that’s it. There’s nothing else. All there is is what you leave behind: kids, art, business, people who care about you.

“Dad?”

He swallows back the bitter flood of thoughts with a long swig of whiskey, and turns his head to look at his son. Jonah’s paused the video and pulled off the headphones. He’s regarding Jensen solemnly.

“Do you think Jared would be mad if I called him dad too?” Jonah says.

Jensen blinks, surprised. “No. No, course he won’t be mad. Why’d you ask that?”

Jonah looks thoughtful. “I was thinking that it wasn’t fair to Jared that I didn’t call him something else,” he says, like it’s an obvious explanation.

“Okay,” Jensen says slowly, “and that means?”

“Because your name is Jensen, but you’re Dad, ‘cause you’re, like, my dad. But Jared’s like my dad too, but he’s just called Jared. It’s not fair. He should have another name, too.”

“I see what you mean,” Jensen says, nodding. “So, what are you going to call him? You could call him Papa or something like that, so you don’t get us mixed up?”

“Papa sounds stupid,” Jonah says dismissively. “Jared doesn’t look like that, he’s too tall. I’m going to call him Dad. Like you.” He looks up at Jensen and frowns. “Is that okay with you?”

Jensen smiles down at him and leans over to kiss the top of his head. “Of course it is. I think Jared will be very pleased that you have another name to call him.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jonah says, looking happy. He elbows Jensen away – kid has really skinny elbows – and slips the headphones back on.


	4. Chapter 4

  
[](http://sonofabiscuit77.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/450/38140)   


  
**CHAPTER FOUR**

On Sunday morning, Jared wakes early. He checks out of the hotel without bothering to shower first, catches an early train, and he’s home before 8am. Henry comes bounding to meet him, jumping up at him and pressing his dirty paws against Jared’s best jeans. Jared shoos him away and goes upstairs to shower.

He feels restless after the shower. Jensen and Jonah won’t be back for hours. He’s picking them up from the airport late tonight. He’s got an entire day to himself. It’s a rarity and he’s not sure what to do with himself. He heads downstairs to make coffee and toast. Rebecca, their housekeeper, is vacuuming the living room, and she’s put the sketches he made of Jensen and Jonah on the kitchen table. He sits at the table, munching his toast and drinking his coffee, and flicks through them. It’s been a while since he last really drew or painted anything. He’s barely used the studio room they had kitted out in the attic for him.

He lingers over the first sketch, the one of Jensen and Jonah at the airport, walking away from him, Jonah looking over his shoulder and waving goodbye. He can visualize the colors he’ll need, the nighttime glare of the over-lit, over-bright airport terminal. It could be a Edward Hopper style tribute: Jensen and Jonah as two lonely figures heading out on their big adventure. The thought galvanizes him, and he gets up from the table, snatching up the pile of sketches.

He paints for over three hours before Rebecca knocks on the door and says she’s done for the day. He calls out his thanks and goes back to work. By the time he does take a break, his stomach is rumbling with hunger. He’s been painting for over five hours, and it’s really starting to look like something special. He covers it up and goes downstairs to eat. He takes Henry out with him on a long run after dinner. He thinks about the painting as he runs. He hasn’t felt this inspired for a really long time, not since they moved here, not since what happened in Dallas, and definitely not since Jensen asked him to take over Stefan’s job.

He gets to the airport early. He tells himself it’s because there’s nothing worse than hanging around at an airport, wondering if your ride’s ever going to arrive, or if you gave them the wrong flight time, the wrong terminal, the wrong freaking day. He used to be always hanging around waiting for Agnes to show when he was a kid and it drove him crazy. Even so, he’s two hours early by the time he gets there.

He buys a paper, reads it, drinks two lattes, goes to the bathroom, then sits on a bench and uses a discarded biro to sketch on the back of someone’s torn-up boarding pass. He’s drawing Jensen again, the line of his profile, the slope of his nose and curve of his cheekbone, the fleshy, flowery shape of his ear. He shoves the picture into his back pocket when he’s done and gets up to walk around the terminal to stretch his legs.

He’s the first in line at the arrivals gate for the flight from DFW. Jensen and Jonah are almost the first people through the gate, which is typical of Jensen, he can’t stand hanging around. Jonah grins delightedly when he spots Jared and runs towards him. Jared scoops him up, and Jonah laughs and winds his legs around Jared’s middle as they spin on the spot. He plants a smacking kiss on Jonah’s cheek before he sets him down again. Jonah makes a face at him, wiping his cheek, and then thrusts a suitcase at him that wasn’t there when they left, insisting that he has to take it, it’s really heavy and it’s all his new toys.

Jared raises an eyebrow at Jensen who shakes his hand and says, “It was my sister’s fault. Don’t ask.” And then Jensen’s grinning at him and pulling him into a hug. Jared clings onto him, buries his face into the collar of Jensen’s leather jacket, rubs his nose against his stubble and breathes him in.

Jared pulls back and his face is aching from smiling so hard. “Missed you,” he says, and to his surprise, Jensen smiles back at him, cups his cheek and says, “Yeah, me too.”

Jensen takes the suitcases upstairs to unpack when they get back, leaving Jared to get Jonah to bed. There’s only time for one chapter tonight, and Jonah’s eyes are already half-closed by the time Jared closes the book.

“Night, Momma, night, Carmela,” Jonah whispers, brushing his fingers over the photograph. He settles back into his pillow and looks up at Jared, big green eyes dark in the light. “Night, Daddy,” he says. “It’s nice to be home again.”

Jared blinks, feeling his heart swell with emotion. He brushes the hair back from Jonah’s forehead, and leans down to kiss him. “Night, buddy.”

He walks into the bedroom feeling a little giddy. Jensen’s sacked out on the bed, half-watching the TV. He rolls his head Jared’s way as he comes in, blinks at him lazily. “Heyyy,” Jensen says.

“So, I think I might’ve imagined it, but Jonah just called me Daddy. Do you know what’s up with that?”

Jensen blinks again, the corner of his mouth twists. “So he said that, huh?”

“He did.” He plops down onto the mattress beside Jensen, and pats his thigh a couple of times..

Jensen exhales sleepily and shifts closer. “He says he wants to start calling you Dad.”

“Why? Why now? Not that I’m against it, but.” He trails off, fans his fingers over Jensen’s thigh, thumb brushing over the inner seam of his jeans.

“He says it’s not fair if you just get called Jared, because you should have a special other name too, like I have. It makes sense to him.”

Jared nods again, fighting a grin. The idea of Jonah calling him Dad. It’s just. He didn’t expect it, but it’s good. He really likes it.

“Dude, you are okay with this, right?” Jensen says.

“What? Um, yeah, yeah, of course.” He digs his fingers into the muscle of Jensen’s thigh, feels Jensen push back into the touch.

“C’mere,” Jensen says, and he’s sitting up and leaning over, cupping Jared’s cheek and guiding him into a kiss. The first kiss is soft, the second much less soft, and then Jensen’s kissing him passionately and Jared’s heart is thumping in his chest. It’s been a really fucking long time. He can’t remember the last time he and Jensen did this. They used to do this a lot; it was one of his favorite things about being with Jensen: how he kissed like his soul was in his mouth and he wanted to share it with Jared.

Jensen pulls away; his mouth is wet and hot and shiny with spit. “Jay. I'm not sure that this--" he breaks off, makes a frustrated noise, and Jared can actually see the disappointment and embarrassment in his eyes. Jared's own cock is hard; it got hard as soon as Jensen started to kiss him, reacting to Jensen’s proximity as it always has. But Jensen’s not hard, there’s no matching bulge in his jeans.

“Okay, it’s okay,” he says. He cups the back of Jensen’s neck. “We can still do this. I still want to kiss you.”

“I can’t fuck you.”

“I don’t care. I can just jerk off in front of you. As long as you kiss me for a while first.”

Jensen blinks, licks his lips, then the corner of his mouth curls, that wicked little grin. “That could work,” he says.

“Yeah, c’mere,” Jared says. He’s grinning again, feeling the pull in his facial muscles as he cradles Jensen’s head and plants kisses around his mouth. He crowds Jensen back and into the bed, pushing his hands under his shirt in his hunt for bare skin. He wants Jensen naked, wants to see him, though he’s not sure Jensen will allow it, his conspicuously soft cock bared to the elements. But topless would work, topless definitely works. Jensen has a gorgeous back, and his front isn’t so bad either.

He pulls the sweater up and over Jensen’s head, mussing his hair. He dives in to kiss his neck, lick over the tendons in his throat, feeling him shiver under the onslaught. Jensen’s shirt is harder to deal with, all fiddly buttons, which shift and fall away under Jared’s eager fingers, and Jensen laughs at him, batting his hands away and saying, “Let me do it, you great dork, big frickin’ man-paws everywhere.” Jared laughs and crowds up against Jensen’s back, pressing his mouth to the nape of Jensen's neck.

Jensen’s hands shake as he works the buttons open and pushes the shirt off, wrists tangling for a moment in the narrow cuffs. And then it’s off, and Jensen’s half-naked, his bare back pressed to Jared’s front. Jared pulls him closer, skims his hand down Jensen’s front, over his chest and belly, a little softer now than it used to be which is endearing and really hot. He ignores Jensen’s cock, ignores the lack of a bulge in his pants, just concentrates on making Jensen feel good and relaxed, on kissing around his neck and across his jaw, licking over his chin, tongue catching on the stubble. Jensen laughs again and tries to get away, but Jared has him held fast.

“Mmm, no, not going anywhere,” he says, “I’ve been missing this, been missing you. Don’t care if you can’t fuck me, just wanna touch you.”

Jensen stops protesting, and Jared shifts away from him. He pulls off his own clothes, tosses them to the floor in a heedless pile until he’s naked, hand fisted around his cock.

“Go on, show me,” Jensen says, sounding more like himself, confident and a little cocky. He leans back against the headboard to watch Jared, eyes raking over his body in that predatory, challenging way that Jared loves. He starts to fist his cock, making a show of it, playing with the purple, fat head and rolling his heavy, aching balls between his fingers.

Jensen licks his lips and watches, the color high in his cheeks, his eyes all pupils. Jared’s gotten used to just his own hand over the past few weeks, but this feels so much better than his usual five minutes in the shower. Jensen’s watching and enjoying, he’s flushed and hot with it, and Jared can see Jensen’s hand slide down to his crotch, his palm over his fly.

“Are you—is it—“ he murmurs

“Keep going,” Jensen breathes out, and Jared does, concentrating on his own pleasure. He adds in that little twist of his wrist that he loves. He kneels up so he can slide his hand between his legs to stroke his perineum and tease his ass. His pulse jumps, breath hitches, and he hears Jensen make a noise. He flicks him a glance and sees that Jensen’s got his fly open, his cock hidden by his hand, but it’s not entirely soft anymore, it can’t be if he’s holding it like that.

The sight makes Jared’s cock throb and he speeds up. He brings his other hand to his mouth, licks his first two fingers, making a show of it, dragging his tongue up each digit, over the tips and down again, slicking up the knuckles. He knows that Jensen loves his hands, Jensen loves how big they are, how long his fingers are, so he takes his time getting them good and wet, showing off for Jensen, till they’re dripping and shiny with spit. He pushes his hand back between his legs, first two fingers circling his ass and then pushing inside, a smooth and fluid motion that he’s done so many times before.

“Oh, Jesus, Jay,” Jensen whispers. Jared glances at him, Jensen’s color is high and he’s got his cock fisted in his hand now. He’s still only half-hard, but it’s something. “Don’t stop,” Jensen begs.

He has no intention of stopping, he’s really close now. He can feel it building, the ache and desperate need for release making every pore in his body tingle and come alive. He jacks his cock, works his fingers in and out his ass. It’s hard to do both at the same time, but it’s not like this is new for him, and it’s not like he gives a shit just how great his technique is right now. He knows he looks needy and sloppy, but God, he’s almost there, he’s so very fucking close.

“Jensen,” he moans. “Jensen…”

“C’mon, come for me,” Jensen whispers, “c’mon, do it. So fuckin’ hot, Jared, such a hot boy… All mine, Jared, so fuckin’ gorgeous… Do it for me, show me how fuckin’ hot you are.”

He moans out loud and shoots. The come splashes warm and sticky over his hand and belly. He slides his fingers out of his ass, hearing the squelchy sound. He glances over at Jensen. Jensen’s still got his hand cupping his cock; he licks his lips, stares at Jared.

“God, whatever did I do to deserve you?” Jensen murmurs.

Jared blushes and rolls his eyes, but he’s really fucking pleased. “Shut up.”

Jensen laughs. He shuffles towards him, cups the back of his neck and pulls him into a kiss.

 

**

Jared doesn’t see Jensen the next morning, he’s up and gone by the time he wakes. There’s a note on the pillow, saying he’ll see him later, he’s got early meetings. It’s not that unusual, but Jared can’t help but feel disappointed. It felt like they really made a breakthrough last night, that some remnant of the old Jensen shone through, like they were reconnecting or some other super-gay term that Jensen would no doubt mock him for if he knew Jared were thinking it. Then again, Jensen’s been away from the office, he really does have a lot to catch up on.

Jared helps Jonah get dressed and find his reading book and homework. He insists on taking one of his new toys to school for Show and Tell. It’s a teddy bear that looks old and decrepit enough to have once belonged to Jensen, and sure enough, Jonah explains that it _was_ Jensen’s, and that he’s going to show it to the class because it’s so totally old.

“See you later, Daddy!” he calls out when he bounds from the car and through the school gates.

Jared watches him and feels that same swelling of emotion in his chest. He’s known Jonah since he was born, and over the past almost three years he’s been helping to raise him. But he’s not Jonah’s dad, Jensen is, and Jonah is so much like Jensen sometimes that it hurts. But now, Jonah is calling him Daddy and it’s good, it feels really fucking good. He wants to hear Jonah say it over and over again.

Jensen shows up half way through Jared’s weekly team meeting. He slides into the back of the room, motions at Abby to continue when she halts in her presentation for the new Neptune Foods holiday campaign. He raises his eyebrows at Jared and settles into a chair at the back to watch.

Jared takes over when Abby’s done, to present his new ideas and concepts for the Markov pitch. He’s pretty sure that the meeting’s going to be a big fat waste of time. He blew the whole thing after he turned down Mark Pellegrino on Saturday night, but they’re professionals and they’re damn well going to do their work and present an excellent campaign. Jensen lingers after Jared dismisses the guys and comes forward to look over the boards.

“These are good, much better than what we had before,” he says.

“Too bad it’s all for nothing,” Jared says.

“We don’t know that.” Jensen puts a hand on his arm, and Jared glances at him, catching his eye. Jensen’s half-smiling, looking pleased with himself. “I went to the doctor this morning. That’s why I was gone so early.”

Jared frowns. “The doctor? Why?”

“Dude, why’d you think?” He raises his hands, does the quotey fingers thing. “For my _embarrassing problem_.”

“Oh.” He’s surprised. Pleasantly surprised.

“He gave me a prescription,” Jensen continues, “some special little blue pills. I’m thinking – we should try them out tonight. Drug the kid; have ourselves some medicated fun-times? Last night really got me in the mood for it.” The smirk turns into a full-on leer, the kind of look Jared hasn’t gotten from him in a long time. Probably not since he was the kid packing away the boards and fetching Stefan’s coffee, slowing down as he passed Jensen’s open office door where Jensen would be on the phone, arm thrown above his head in a decadent sprawl. Jared always slowed down enough to look through the open door and catch Jensen’s eye, seeing the unabashed leer on his face, the arched eyebrows that meant: _“You’re going to be round my loft tonight with your ass in the air.”_

Jared grins, he can’t help himself. He probably looks goofy as fuck, but he doesn’t care. It’s been long. Like really fucking long. Even when they were broken up, they never went this long without fucking each other. Neither of them ever really got to grips with the concept of breakup sex as a bad thing. One of them was always coming back for more every time they called it quits. Even that last sucky time, it was only two months before Jensen came knocking on his door the night that…

No, he’s not going to think about that night, he’s not going to think about anything apart from the fact that they’re going to have sex tonight. Jesus, why isn’t it night already? How many fucking hours in the day are there?

“Doofus,” Jensen mutters, but he’s smiling too, leaning in to grope Jared’s ass before he strides out of the conference room.

There are meetings to go to before he can leave. Unfortunately, they’re the kind of meetings where he has to have his head on straight. He can’t be distracted by just how hot Jensen looks during the heads meeting when he talks about streamlining and restructuring and hierarchical change and all those other euphemisms that mean firing a load of people. But it has to be done, and there are a lot of people that have been coasting these last few months. Jared looks around him at the others around the table and at those on the video screen in Dallas and wonders how many of them are going to still be here in a month’s time.

Everybody’s subdued when they leave the meeting. They all have to think about cutting budgets, about who they can live without. Jared’s got to find $1m from his departmental budget, and Lynn, his counterpart in Dallas has got to find $2m. Jensen talked about merging the two art departments, about bringing most of it under Jared’s control and having Lynn report to Jared. Jared’s not sure how he feels about that. He still doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing here, and he knows that a lot of the other heads are looking at him enviously, knowing that he’s probably the only one whose job is safe.

He sighs and collapses into his desk chair when he gets to his office. There are message slips on his desk, a pile of boards that need signing off, his voicemail light is on and he can see a couple of his guys getting up from their desks to head his way. _I don’t want to be here,_ he thinks, _I want to be at home in the studio. I want to work on the painting I started yesterday, and then work on another. I want to be at the school gate when Jonah gets out of school instead of the nanny. I want to give him his milk and cookies and help him with his homework. I want Jonah to be able to ask his friends over after school, to have them hear Jonah call me Daddy. I want to be an artist again, I want to create again. I don’t want to do this job anymore._

But Jensen needs him, and he can’t let Jensen down. He takes a long swig of cold coffee, then looks up with a welcoming smile as Garth and Jenny knock on his door and come inside.

**

They don’t get around to trying the pills that night. Jonah wakes up only an hour after falling asleep, screaming and crying and shaking. Jensen’s in his room directly, pulling him into his arms and rocking him while Jonah buries his head in Jensen’s shoulder and wails like he hasn’t done since he was a toddler. Jared goes downstairs to heat up some milk and feels overwhelmingly relieved that they didn’t get around to starting things properly. It would be really fucking awkward right now if Jensen had actually taken that pill.

Jonah’s calmed down some by the time Jared comes back upstairs with his hot milk. Jensen’s moved him to their room and they’re sitting on the bed. Jonah’s resting in Jensen’s lap, his cheek pressed to Jensen’s chest, fingers curled in the fabric of Jensen’s shirt. Jensen’s running his hands over Jonah’s back, talking softly to him, nonsense, soothing words that make Jonah shudder occasionally and press his face harder into Jensen’s chest, leaving snotty, teary trails. Jared climbs onto the bed beside them and watches Jonah raise his head and regard him through doleful, watery eyes. Jared smiles at him and holds out the milk which Jonah takes carefully, shifting into a sitting position to drink it.

Jensen gives him an apologetic look from over the top of Jonah’s head. Jared shrugs and runs his hand up Jonah’s skinny arm to muss his hair.

“You alright now, buddy?” he asks. “You want to sleep here with us?”

Jonah nods and Jared smiles again and leans in to drop a kiss to the top of his head. “Okay,” he says.

“I think we should see a doctor again,” Jared says, coming into the bathroom a couple of hours later. Jensen’s at the sink brushing his teeth. He’s in just his sleep pants, his face shiny with the anti-aging night-cream he uses. He frowns at Jared in the mirror, spits into the sink. “For Jonah, I mean,” Jared adds.

Jensen rinses out his mouth, pops the toothbrush into the holder. “Like father, like son, huh?” His mouth is twisted, the expression on his face self-deprecating.

“What’re you talking about?”

Jensen leans back against the sink and sighs. “I made an appointment to see a therapist this afternoon. Someone Dr Evans recommended. He’s supposed to be good, or at least that’s what Evans said.”

“Oh.” Jared’s surprised. Again. Sure, Jensen mentioned something about seeing someone after he talked to his sister, but so soon? Then again, once Jensen does decide something, he doesn’t wait around. It would make sense that he’d get that recommendation from the doctor at the same time he got the prescription for Viagra. Jensen’s not one for procrastinating.

“Viagra’s not going to work forever,” Jensen says matter-of-factly. “If it does work – which we don’t know yet. So, I figure, I got to get things fixed up here.” He taps the side of his head and makes a face. “I can’t go on like this. With you and me,” he gestures between them, “you know.”

“I know,” Jared echoes. “And I’m pleased, Jensen. This is good. I know you think therapy’s all bullshit, but we don’t know until we try.” He’s feeling unaccountably teary, emotional. “Jesus,” he mutters, bowing his head. “Fuck.”

He feels Jensen come close, place his hands on his arms and pull him into a hug. He winds his hands around Jensen’s back and holds him close, feeling Jensen run his hands up and down his back in comforting motions, just like he was doing before for Jonah. When he raises his head he feels ridiculous and really embarrassed.

“Christ, I’m sorry. Don’t know what came over me,” he mutters.

“It’s okay,” Jensen says. He’s regarding him strangely. “I’m the one who should apologize.”

“You, why?”

Jensen makes a face, that sheepish, wry sort of a look. “I should’ve done something a long time ago. And not just about – you know—“ he gestures awkwardly towards his crotch, “--but me. That trip to Dallas, seeing the old places again, the old office, even having dinner with Jeff, going to the Memorial—“

“You went to the Memorial?” Jared interrupts, surprised.

Jensen nods. “Yeah. It sucked. Of course. I couldn’t imagine us still being there, knowing that place was there, in the same city as us. I’m so damn glad we moved out here.”

“So am I,” says Jared, and he means it. At the time, he wasn’t sure about going, but Jensen wanted to and they had Jonah to think about, and really, he would’ve been happy anyplace that Jensen was. He thought it would help too, to get away from Dallas, put some distance between them and all those places they used to hang out, all those memories of Chad and Addie and Stefan. And in some ways, it has helped, but in others…

Jensen’s got his head bowed still, one hand gripped around the edge of the sink. He lifts his head up, looking up at Jared through his eyelashes, and Jared’s struck suddenly by how gorgeous he is, even with all that crap on his face, even with how exhausted and weighed down he looks.

“Yeah, so I just – Jay, I want to say that I’m sorry, for putting you through so much. For.” He hesitates, like he’s trying to find the words. “Our relationship, it’s never been easy, and that’s on me, I know that’s all on me. You always knew what you wanted, and you were never scared of going after it. I always admired that about you.”

“I wanted you,” Jared says honestly. “Just you. However I could get you.” That’s true, too. It’s the one thing Chad could never get about him and Jensen. _He’ll never want you the same way, Jay. Stone-cold bitches like him aren’t capable of it._ But Chad never knew Jensen like he did, he didn’t see Jensen with Jonah or his sister, he didn’t know how loyal Jensen was to his friends, and he didn’t know what Jensen was like when it was just the two of them.

Jensen smiles sadly. “Yeah, I know. I should’ve realized before.”

“But none of that matters now, man,” Jared insists. “We’re a family now, the three of us. We’ll be alright. We’ll get through this. And you’ll be okay. The therapy will help, I know it will. We’ll work it out.” He leans down, presses a kiss to Jensen’s bare shoulder. He meets Jensen’s eyes in the mirror, says, “I’m proud of you. I love you. Always. Never gonna change.”

 

***

Tuesday night is also a bust. Jensen’s got a client dinner and a breakfast meeting the next day and he’s spending the night in the city. They’re both potential new accounts, so they’re not things he can skip. Jared tries not to resent it, but Jensen’s only been back two days and he misses him. He feels good about things though, the conversation last night – it’s more than Jensen’s said in a long, long time, and now he’s willingly going to try therapy. It’s a big change-around from the Jensen back in Dallas who never understood why Jared wanted to go to the group counseling sessions or talk to anyone about what happened to their friends, saying that therapy was bullshit, just a way to con grieving people out of their money.

But therapy helped him back then. Sure, he’s never going to stop feeling guilty for Chad being at the Center that night, but just being able to say that out loud, when he was so used to bottling it up and putting on a front for Jensen’s and Jonah’s sakes, was such a damn relief. Jensen’s never let himself have that. Jensen’s kept it all wound up tight inside and barely spoken about it. It’s weirdly appropriate that it’s taken this – Jensen’s sexual performance issues – to finally get him to open up about everything. After all, Jensen’s always said that his dick was behind every important life decision he ever made.

He works in Jensen’s home office, putting together his new budget proposal, speaking to Lynn in Dallas until after 10pm to finalize their list of who’s going, who’s staying and who’s moving where. He drops his head into his hands when they’re done. He doesn’t want to be doing this. His mom is right about one thing: he’s not cut out for Jensen’s world. He’s been faking it for the past three years, but he’s not sure he can keep doing it. Even for Jensen.

He sighs and raises his head, his eyes catching on the five photographs ranged across Jensen’s enormous desk. Jensen and Stefan from years ago on some college road trip; Addie and newborn baby Jonah, taken at the same time as the one on Jonah’s nightstand; Jonah’s school picture from last year; the wedding picture of him and Jensen looking uncomfortable and nervous in their complimenting designer tuxes; and one of just him taken on vacation in Miami about five years ago. He’s sitting on the balcony of their suite at the hotel in that picture, he's in profile, looking off into the distance, at the sunset. He’s grinning, his eyes shining and he looks so happy and so young. He can remember how crazy he was for Jensen back then, how they couldn’t keep their hands off each other the whole time they were there. He can remember thinking that that was the highpoint in his life, that things could never be this perfect again.

He doesn’t do any more work that night. Instead, he heads upstairs with his sketchpad. He sits in the armchair in the corner of Jonah’s room and sketches him by the soft pink glow of the nightlight.

 

**

Wednesday is the day of the Markov pitch.

Mark Pellegrino shows up with two other people, a woman and a man who introduce themselves as the VPs for Marketing and Distribution, respectively. Apart from Jared and Jensen, Tom who’s in charge of online, and Phil, their top account man, also sit in on the meeting. Jared puts on his most professional, most calm and most unruffled look as Mark and his team step out of the elevator. Certainly, Mark looks professional and unruffled. He shakes hands all around, no extra lingering looks or touches when he takes Jared’s hand, as if they’re meeting for the first time. They all sit down in their nicest conference room, coffee and bottled water gets served, and Jensen starts talking through their campaign.

Jensen’s really fucking good at what he does. It’s something that shouldn’t surprise Jared anymore; he’s seen Jensen at work plenty of times before. He’s attended client dinners as Jensen’s plus one with their more open-minded clients, or as the Art Director with others. He’s sat in on enough pitches to know just how convincing and assured Jensen can be. But today, _today,_ Jensen is really smashing it. Jensen is pushing the campaign like it’s the next _We Try Harder._

After Jensen finishes, the room is silent, everyone staring at the boards like they’re seeing them anew. The hairs on Jared’s arms are tingling, his pulse quick. He looks across the conference table at Jensen; Jensen’s eyes are alight, his color high. Their eyes catch, and Jared feels the breath catch in his throat, a flair of heat in his gut. He swallows and looks away. Under the table, his legs are trembling.

The Marketing VP is the first to recover. She clears her throat, says, “Well, I’m not sure what to say. That was—“

“Extraordinary,” Mark cuts in. “And the work is… Good. More than good. But I imagine I don’t have to tell you that.” He addresses the remarks to Jensen, not bothering with anyone else around the table.

Jensen holds Mark’s gaze. “It was all Jared’s idea. You should be congratulating him.”

“Really?” Mark says, and Jared can feel Mark’s eyes on him briefly, before he returns his attention back to Jensen. “You’re very lucky to have someone so talented on your team.”

“Yeah, I am,” Jensen says and there’s a pointed, sharkish quality to his tone that makes Jared’s ears prick up and the heat pool and roil in his gut.

Mark still has eyes only for Jensen. There’s a slight smile playing at the corner of his mouth, and Jensen’s looking back at him in a way that’s his usual mix of nonchalance and self-assuredness, but with this note of something underneath, something Jared can best describe as dangerous. The atmosphere is tense; the two VP’s from Markov are looking between Jensen and their boss like they’re not sure what to think. On Jared’s side of the table, Tom and Phil also look lost. Everyone seems to be holding their breath.

Slowly, the corners of Jensen’s mouth curl upwards, his expression shifts, going bland and accommodating. His smile gets warmer, less pointed as he looks away from Mark and at the other two Markov execs. “So, you guys ready to hear about how we’re thinking of playing this? Which markets we’re thinking of hitting?”

Mark sits back in his chair, waves his hand. “By all means.” The tension seems to have lifted, everybody breathing evenly again. The VP’s crack tentative smiles as Tom gets to his feet to deliver his part of the pitch.

Jared feels physically exhausted by the time the meeting’s done. He stays behind while Jensen and Phil walk Mark and his team to the elevators. He’s still gathering up the boards when Jensen returns, the conference room door snicking closed behind him. He turns to see Jensen standing there and watching him with a grin that manages to be both smug and evil.

“So you enjoyed that, huh?” Jared says.

“Dude, tell me you did too.”

“Not sure if enjoy is the right word.”

“They were over it like white on rice,” he says, coming towards Jared. He cups the back of Jared’s neck, tugs him down into a kiss. It’s brief, hard. “Shit, Jare, you’re so damn smart. And hot.” Jensen smiles at him and presses his thumb to the corner of Jared’s mouth and drags it against his lower lip. Jared breathes in and out for a couple of beats, following Jensen’s dark-lidded gaze, then he grabs onto Jensen, spins him and pushes him back against the conference table. He doesn’t use his physical strength on Jensen very often. Jensen prefers to be the one in control, he’s a toppy bastard most of the times, but sometimes, sometimes… Jensen moans and his fingers sink into Jared’s biceps through the fabric of his suit jacket. His legs spread and Jared’s knee slides between them, his erection grinding up against Jensen’s belly.

They can’t do it here though, not in the freaking conference room, in the middle of the day. Jared presses one last kiss to Jensen’s mouth and takes a step back. Jensen’s pupils are dilated, his mouth looking pummeled.

“You know if he does sign with us, then every meeting we have with them can’t just finish up in a pissing contest,” Jared says.

Jensen shrugs, glances up at him from under his eyelashes. “Then he needs to know to keep his damn hands off what’s mine.”

Jared rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the spark of arousal in his gut at Jensen’s tone. He’s not used to Jensen being territorial or possessive. In the old days he would’ve given anything to be able to make Jensen jealous, but Jensen was infuriatingly indifferent to whoever Jared danced with or kissed or even fucked. Jensen used to say that gay men weren’t built to be exclusive. Fucking around was far more natural and definitely less hypercritical, because everybody cheated in the end. He used to insist that Jared was far too young and attractive to be tied down to just one guy, saying that Jared should go out and experience everything he could, because if he didn’t, he’d just regret it later. Jensen never honestly believed that all Jared wanted was him.

“You’re an idiot,” he says fondly.

Jensen grins at him and slaps him on the ass on his way out the room. “Ten bucks says he’ll be signing by the end of the day.”

“I’m not gonna take that bet!” he calls after him.

 

**

 

“It says you’re supposed to take it an hour or so before you want to see results. So, I guess you take it now and we hang out, or I don’t know, _make out_ for a while? Like, to get you in the mood? It’s up to you, man, how’d you want to do this?”

Jensen looks up from where he’s unbuttoning his shirt. Jared’s standing on the other side of the bed, already stripped down to his boxer briefs. He’s holding Jensen’s prescription bottle in one of his enormous hands, frowning down at the label as he speaks.

Jensen hesitates, licking his lips. He’s feeling kind of nervous, if truth be told. He’s just as uncertain as Jared on how this is supposed to work. Well, he knows how it’s _supposed_ to work. He’s read up on stuff and he has taken it before, but God, last time was just dumb experimentation, now it really matters. And he’s actually really fucking nervous. He’s not used to feeling like this.

“God, Jay, I don’t know,” he says.

Jared places the bottle of pills back onto the nightstand and turns to look up at him; his hair’s in his eyes and he’s biting his lip, with a look on his face that is so completely _Jared_ that Jensen immediately feels better. After all, this is just Jared, Jared and him together. Jared’s not going to stand there and judge him and find him wanting. Jared’s not that person. And Jared loves him, he knows that. He just – shit – he really doesn’t want to let Jared down.

“Take off your pants and shirt,” Jared says. He climbs onto the bed on his knees and looks at him expectantly.

He huffs out a breath, slides his belt out of his belt loops and unzips his fly. He folds his pants carefully over a chair and peels off his socks. He shrugs off his shirt and places it on the chair.

“You keeping me waiting on purpose?” Jared says, quirking up his eyebrows. He grins, holds out his hand and waggles his fingers. “C’mere.”

Jensen kneels on the bed. He lets Jared pull him in, savoring the closeness of Jared’s body, Jared’s warm bare skin against his. Jared holds him close, kisses the side of his face, rubs their bristly cheeks together. “Hey, listen, if you don’t want to do it now, then we don’t have to. In fact, I think it might be a better idea if we wait.”

Jensen draws back, looks at Jared. He can see the bottle of pills looming in his peripheral vision. He wants to do it, take the pill, get a woody (hopefully), fuck Jared. God, he really wants to fuck Jared. But if it doesn’t work? What then?

“What do you mean?” he says.

“I think you should speak to the therapist first,” Jared says.

Jensen blinks at him. “Why?”

Jared shifts around until he’s sitting cross legged on the bed, long bony feet poking into the thick duvet. He shrugs, pushes his hair back off his face. “I think you should speak to the therapist, like, an expert before we just plunge into this.” He pauses, smirks a little, pushing his tongue into his cheek. “So to speak.” Jensen rolls his eyes at him but Jared shrugs, says, “I’m trying to be all practical here, man. I think you need to,” he hesitates again, searching for the right words, “figure things out first. We don’t want to just jump into it and, you know. If it doesn’t work, if we don’t manage anything tonight, then you’re going to be all disappointed and depressed tomorrow, and that will affect anything you say to the doctor. I think, maybe, you need to get your head straight first. I’m sorry if you really wanted to do this tonight, but I just think this is the best way.”

 _He’s giving me an out,_ Jensen thinks. He stares back at Jared, at the clear, almost pleading look in his eyes. He remembers the look on Jared’s face when he first told him he’d gotten the pills, how excited Jared was. Jared wants this; it would be fucking weird if he didn’t after almost three months of nothing, but he’s still giving him time. He knows that Jensen’s not ready and he’s giving him an excuse to back out and keep face.

Jensen opens and closes his mouth, trying to find the words. “Yeah, okay,” he says at last. He can feel the relief like a real tangible thing, making that tight, knotted feeling in his chest start to dissipate. “Yeah. Okay. You’re probably right.”

Jared’s expression brightens. He reaches for Jensen’s hand, tangles their fingers together. “Okay,” he repeats. “It’s the best way, trust me, baby.”

Jensen makes a face at the endearment, but he can’t stop the relieved smile from edging across his face. Jared’s grinning at him now anyway, peering up at him through his eyelashes in that way that makes him look even younger than his 27 years.

“But this doesn’t mean that tonight has to be a total washout,” Jensen says.

“What do you mean?”

Jensen moves quickly, snagging his hand free from Jared’s grasp and placing it on Jared’s shoulder, pushing him backwards, down into the mattress. “Go on, lie down.”

“Jensen—“

“Shut up, just do it.” He puts his other hand on Jared’s other shoulder, shoves him harder. “Or do I have to tie you down, Padalecki?”

Jared’s breath catches, the pink floods to his cheeks. His cock, already half-hard, practically springs to attention. He falls back into the bed, unfolding his legs and letting them fall flat into the comforter. Jensen leans over him, curling his thumbs into the waistband of Jared’s tented boxer briefs. He slides them down over the curve of Jared’s ass, down his long, muscled thighs and calves, over his feet. He tosses them over his shoulder, watches them float to the floor. He turns back to Jared and moves to loom over him, straddling his body on his hands and knees.

It feels good to be like this, to be the one in charge again, to _see_ with his own eyes how much Jared wants him. And yeah, it sucks that his own stupid cock is barely hard, but he’s not thinking about that. He’s just thinking about giving Jared something back, showing Jared how much he loves him, and knowing that he’s still the only person in the entire world who can make Jared feel this good.

He licks his lips ostentatiously, gratified to see Jared’s gaze darken, his eyes following the path of his tongue. “I’m going to suck you. And you’re going to lie there like a little bitch and enjoy it. Okay?”

Jared nods eagerly and Jensen smirks, cups Jared’s cheek. “That’s my good boy.”

 

**

An hour later, they’re all cleaned up. Jared’s lying with his head on Jensen’s chest and Jensen’s playing with his hair, running his fingers through the soft, damp strands. Jared heaves out a sigh, raises his head and looks down at him.

“I need to talk to you about something,” he says.

Jensen’s feels his heart skip a beat. Good conversations never start like this. “Oh. Sounds serious,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady.

Jared nods. He pulls out of the embrace, and sits up. Jensen watches him, he can’t see much in the dark room, just the shadows and planes of Jared’s face and chest, the dark mess of his hair and glint of his teeth as he bites his lip. Jared doesn’t say anything straight away and Jensen’s stomach starts to churn nervously. He sits up, too, because whatever this is about he can tell it’s not one of those conversations he feels comfortable having lying down.

At last Jared sighs, says, “Jensen, I, uh. I want to leave the company. I think, with all the changes and the restructuring, that now’s a good time for me to go. Lynn can run both Art Departments, she’s more than capable.”

“You. What?” Jensen says. He blinks, stares at Jared, trying to take it in. He’s surprised, he really wasn’t expecting this. But he’s also relieved. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he’s overwhelmingly relieved that Jared’s not leaving him, though really, he should’ve known it wouldn’t be that. Jared’s had plenty of good reasons to leave him before now and he’s never managed to stay gone for good.

But Jared wants to leave the company? Leave Providence? Jared’s a huge part of Providence, he’s the Art Director, hell, with Stef gone, he’s more than that to Jensen. He’s one of only a handful of people who genuinely care about the future of the company, one of the few people Jensen can truly rely on to have his back.

Jared rolls his head against the headboard to look at him. Jensen’s eyes have adjusted to the dark, or maybe it’s getting lighter, he doesn’t know, but he can make out the anxious, pleading look in Jared’s eyes as he speaks.

“I want to be an artist again. Or freelance. I don’t know. I loved creating that campaign for Markov, I loved just being there – doing it from scratch – coming up with the idea and getting it out there. But I never do that these days, you know that. Normally, I’m running the department and signing stuff off and managing shit, and that’s – that’s not what I want to do. It’s not what I’m good at. I want to create stuff again. Last weekend, while you were away, I started painting again and it felt good. But I never get a chance to do that either.” He swallows, catching his breath.

Jensen keeps watching him; he’s not sure how to take this all in. Jared hasn’t painted much since they moved here. It’s kind of annoying actually, they spent a lot of money setting up that studio and Jared’s barely been in it. Then again, maybe Jensen should’ve encouraged him more in his art. He knows how much Jared loves painting; it’s more than a hobby for him. But Jared hasn’t been painting these last couple of years. He’s been working at Providence and coming home and working some more and looking after Jonah and walking the dog and putting up with Jensen’s crabby mood swings and just… Yeah. Maybe it is Jensen’s fault that Jared hasn’t had time to use that expensive attic studio. He should’ve noticed, he should’ve realized that Jared wasn’t happy at Providence, doing Stef’s job.

“I’m happy to still do work for you, like, freelance,” Jared continues, “and if you need me for Markov, then that’s fine, I’ll be there to work on the campaign, or charm Mark Pellegrino, or whatever. But I don’t want to spend full days in the office and I don’t want to be Art Director anymore. And I want – I want to be there for Jonah. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with things the way they are now for him because there isn’t. But _I_ want to be the one to collect him from school, I want to spend more time with him. And we can afford it, Jensen. We’re lucky. When I was growing up, I went to every after school club there was. Dude, I was in everything: chess club and art club and baseball and track, and I friggin’ suck at baseball, you know that. But I had no choice, either I went to all those clubs or I got stuck with some weird friend of Agnes’s. And yeah, I know it was hard for her, she couldn’t afford proper daycare, but it’s not like that for us, and _I_ want this, man. I want him to spend time with me, not the nanny. He’s my son too, don’t I get a say in that?”

Jensen swallows and nods. “Yeah, yeah, you do. Of course you do. I just.”

“Just what?”

Jensen bites his lip, looks into Jared’s eyes. He’s still looking anxious, and Jensen wants to take that look away more than anything. “I don’t know. If that’s what you want, then I’m not going to stop you. But I don’t know what I’m going to do without you at work.”

There’s an ache in his chest. He’s thinking about the day he and Stef opened the Dallas office, the day they won their first account, the day Jeff Morgan came in to sign with them – their first major client. He thinks about how he and Stef got drunk that night on champagne, toasting each other and boasting about the great things they were going to do. He thinks about the first time he ever saw Jared, about how he used to watch Jared’s ass as he walked past his office, how Jared would glance at him and flash his dimples and flick his bangs out of his eyes, walking away with a self-conscious strut. The kid walked past his office about twenty freaking times a day, he’s pretty sure he didn’t need to go to the men’s room or the kitchen _that_ often. He thinks about the day they opened the office in New York, how he and Jared came in on the weekend to fix up a load of shelving and artwork because the useless contractors had fucked up. They sat on the floor of Jensen’s new office afterwards and ate take-out, and then Jared blew him to christen the new office.

“That job,” he says, “that job was Stef’s job, and then yours. Just thinking about someone else doing that job—“

“Lynn’s good,” Jared interrupts. “And it’s the best thing for the business. She worked under Stefan too. Hell, she was way better qualified than me to do it after he – after he passed. She’s still way better qualified!”

“You’re not so bad,” Jensen mutters.

Jared laughs, his teeth flashing white in the dark. It’s a relieved sound though, and Jensen feels his own mouth tug up into a tentative smile. Jared knocks their shoulders together and reaches over to take his hand. He threads their fingers and brings Jensen’s hand to his mouth. Jensen watches Jared kiss his knuckles, feels the warm puff of Jared’s breath against his fingers. Jared lowers their hands and looks at him, his eyes wide and serious.

“So, you’re okay with this?” he asks tentatively.

“Yeah. If it makes you happy, Jare, then yeah. If that’s what you want.”

Jared nods his head, looking so freaking sincere and relieved that it hurts. “I do. I do want. And you realize that this saves about 100k from the art department budget if I’m gone. Probably more than that when you take out pension and insurance contributions and—“

“Hell, no,” Jensen interrupts, “I’m not taking you off the pension and insurance schemes. We’ll need those in future. I want to make double sure that you and Jonah are covered. Besides, this isn’t over completely. You’ll still do work for us? Like, from here, or whatever?”

“Yeah, sure, yeah. I mean, I don’t even know if I want to think about trying to paint properly yet.”

“And you’re sure as hell not working for any of the competition,” Jensen adds.

Jared laughs. “Of course not.”

“Okay then.” Jensen nods, smirks a little as he says, “Padalecki, you’re fired.”

 

**

 

Jensen announces the changes on Friday with the Dallas office on the video screen and everybody in New York crowded into the conference room. He talks about a new stage in the company’s future, about sacrifices and pulling together and working as a team. He doesn’t sugarcoat it, says it’s a difficult time, there will be redundancies and pay freezes, there’ll be a process, and they’ll get to know later in the day if their job is at risk.

He announces the upper management changes, too. Jared’s not the only one leaving, but he’s the one that gets an audible gasp of surprise. He feels several pairs of shocked eyes on him as Jensen explains how Lynn will be leading both Art Departments in the future, and how they’ll be consolidated into one unit.

Jared is surprised when he gets back to his own department afterwards by how many people want to talk to him, how many of his guys are sad that he’s going and want to know why he’s leaving. He’s touched; he didn’t realize he was that popular.

“Of course you’re popular,” Jensen says later, like it’s a given. “You let them get away with murder. Lynn – now she’s a hard-ass. They won’t know what’s hit them.”

Jensen’s holding a beer, standing by the French doors, watching Jared grill out on the deck. It’s a warm night, and Jared’s in just a t-shirt, his own beer standing next to the pile of uncooked meat.

Jonah’s throwing a stick for Henry at the end of yard, capering after him and wrestling the poor animal to the ground when he comes back with the stick. Jonah’s dirty and grass-stained and covered in mud. Surprisingly, Jensen hasn’t commented on it yet.

Jared drops the steaks onto the grill with a satisfying sizzle. Jensen slides up behind him, curls one arm around his middle. “I’m going to miss you,” he says. He’s had a few drinks; they’ve loosened him up some, gotten him a little maudlin. “Who the hell am I supposed to ogle without you around?”

Jared smiles, turns to cup the back of Jensen’s neck and drag his fingers through Jensen’s short hair. “I’m sure you’ll manage. If you get really desperate, you can always hire someone new to stare at.”

“Not right now. We’ve just announced a shit-load of redundancies. I won’t be able to hire anybody for at least a year.” Jensen pouts and pulls away from him with a lofty sigh.

“You’ll be alright,” Jared repeats. He’s trying to believe it himself. Providence has been his life for a long time; it’s what brought him and Jensen together. He feels a loyalty for the company that he’s never felt for anywhere else. He moved about so much as a kid that he never got a chance to feel any kind of hometown pride for anywhere. He has worked at other agencies, and of course he was a student for a long while, but he’s spent the majority of his relationship with Jensen working at the same company as him, working at _his_ company. It’s going to be weird not seeing Jensen during the day. Some days, the only time he does get to see Jensen is at work. Hell, it’s probably about time that they got this distance in their relationship, the fabled work-life balance.

“And if you want to see me, then – well, you’ll just have to make sure you come home earlier. That way you can see Jonah too,” Jared adds.

“I guess so,” Jensen sighs. Jared watches him raise his eyes and look down the garden towards Jonah, currently rolling around on the grass with the dog. “Jonah!” he shouts, loud enough to make Jared flinch. “Come here! Now!”

Jensen strides across the lawn towards the boy. Henry leaps to his feet and runs at Jensen, panting and circling him excitedly. Jensen ignores the dog, turns to Jonah who’s sheepishly trying to adjust his grass-stained t-shirt. “Jesus Christ, the state of you. Go inside now and get yourself cleaned up before dinner.”

Jared shakes his head and looks down at the steaks as Jonah runs past him and into the house. He picks up the tongs to turn them over, savoring the delicious smell that rises up from the grill. He takes a pull on his beer, watching Jensen’s ass as he bends over to pick up the stick to toss for the dog. Jared smiles to himself. He feels good, and he’s pretty sure they’re going to be okay.

THE END

[ ](http://sonofabiscuit77.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/450/37690)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Final! Author's Note:** If anything seems familiar to anyone about this fic then that might be because there is a tad of self-plagary going on here. My original inspiration for this was a fic I wrote years ago for Queer As Folk fandom called [Three Days in our Bullshit Domestic Life](http://qaf-challenges.livejournal.com/37161.html) from which I borrowed a couple of plot points. This fic also owes a debt to QAF with Jared the artist, Jensen the ad-exec and the hate crime bombing - which of course was a major plot point in season 5 of QAF. No one died on that show, I was much harder on Jared and Jensen, but in my defence, they do suffer so beautifully ;-)


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